


Jester

by frumious_bandersnatch, InHisImage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Horror, Cruelty, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Disturbing Themes, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Gore, Graphic Torture, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), M/M, Mind Games, Orgasm Denial, Oviposition, Phobias, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Psychological Horror, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scary Clowns, Sexual Assault, Sexual Violence, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27319474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frumious_bandersnatch/pseuds/frumious_bandersnatch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/InHisImage/pseuds/InHisImage
Summary: When Lucifer is bored, bad things happen to good people.A series of nightmarish cage scenarios without a hint of depth or plot. This is absolute filth and it's absolutely horrifying. Please be WARNED.
Relationships: Lucifer/Sam Winchester
Comments: 84
Kudos: 79





	1. Funfair

**Author's Note:**

> These one-shots do not take place in any previously established universes. Feel free to check chapter-specific tags/summaries and choose your poison!
> 
> So, look. This series doesn't attempt to be anything that it isn't. This is torture porn and it's fucked up and not for the faint of heart. Chapters are tagged for better warnings than the work itself because they vary in intensity and most chapters can be read on their own since there isn't a story in the traditional sense. If you want playful whimsical Lucifer (not the joke the show gave us recently though) that is also hella scary and cruel, this is the place. This fic won't be kind to Sam. Please read safely and mind the tags. Have fun!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific tags: clowns, sexual violence, cruelty, humiliation, horror, mild gore.

Sometimes the cage was a garden, sometimes a bedroom, or a movie theatre, or an abandoned city with restaurants that used to be fancy and dark alleys with graffiti on the walls. Sometimes it was the Earth before humans, natural, uncorrupted, beautiful. Sometimes it was the apocalypse that never happened, and everything was death and fire and destruction, and they’d scurry away to an underground bunker and spend the next three months hiding from the ugliness outside with canned food and blankets and an old cassette player.

Every decade, give or take, was something new. Lucifer would change the scenery and the scenario and they’d play new roles, live new lives, feel new feelings, die new deaths. Wasn’t always good, but when it was good, it was incredible. And it wasn’t always bad, but when it was bad, it was terrible. 

Sometimes Sam didn’t remember who he was, and was whoever Lucifer told him to be. A farmer, a member of the resistance, a scholar, a soldier. Sometimes he was Sam, and he had all his memories, all his truths, and he was planning a christmas party for the Devil, or a proposal, a first date, a birthday surprise. 

Sam was adaptable, even when he didn’t like it. He’d learnt to play along. 

It was a Tuesday and the cage was a carnival. There was a rollercoaster and a house of mirrors, a merry-go-round and a full moon. Not another soul or the illusion of any. 

“Will you do something for me?” Lucifer stared up and wrapped a casual arm around Sam’s waist. 

He sounded like he always did. Never angry, never jupilant, always too calm and on the edge of boredom like every new life was already a rerun of a hundred he’d seen before. 

Sam leaned in against Lucifer’s side and shivered. The night was cold and the archangel colder. “Yeah,” He nodded, air fogging with his breath. He was glad for his jacket, glad for his hair hanging over his ears. He wasn’t sure how this would turn out, this time. Normally he had a good idea. Anxiety prickling at the back of his neck as a warning that this wouldn’t be a fun go around the bend, lightheartedness telling him that this imagined life, this play, would be good. Maybe not domestic, but good.

This, though, felt like a blank slate. And he embraced it fully. Was done with the trediptation when he wasn’t sure, was done with trying to please Lucifer with every action because that was boring. For the both of them. “What is it?”

Lucifer shifted to face him, so they were forehead to forehead and he was cupping Sam’s cheeks with both palms, “Don’t-” He hissed, gaze flickering to something right behind Sam, “-freeze.”

And then Lucifer pulled back and he tilted his head slightly, nodded with a brief blink as if initiating something Sam’s wasn’t yet aware of. 

Behind Sam, in the shadows, there were three figures. Indecipherable, oddly dressed, but Sam got it, knew what he was going to see the second they stepped into the light. 

Lucifer crossed one arm over his chest and raised the other with an imaginary finger-gun, always a little theatrical when introducing a new game, “Run.”

Sam’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, to plead, maybe, because his stomach was twisting itself into knots already and his heart was clenching in his chest with primal childlike fear.

He ran. Boots thudding against cracked asphalt, head turned to face over his shoulder and eyes wide. They ran after him and he knew, just knew he couldn’t outpace them. That meant hiding, meant outsmarting them. He was going to fucking kill Lucifer.

Turned a corner, down a row of long since abandoned food stands, and he was presented with a choice. Straight on and get caught and see what Lucifer’s idea of clowns liked to do for fun, or- the hall of mirrors or the fun house. And he was scared. So terrified, more than it would be on a hunt, more than a poltergeist or a demon could ever do.

He was going to rip Lucifer’s heart out because this wasn’t fair. Damnit. Damnit, shit, fucking hell, he hated this beyond anything. He turned on his heel and made for the hall of mirrors, had to duck his head a little to step in and start walking, try to focus, try to calm his breathing and stay as quiet as possible because if he could get out and leave them stuck for just a little while he could get somewhere safer.

Lucifer followed the chase from afar, eyes tracking Sam and gleaming with a hint of amusement when he disappeared inside the fun house. He stalked forward, leisurely because he could still see inside it from where he was, just wanted to be closer. 

One of the clowns halted somewhere by a fortune-teller tent and looked exaggeratedly confused, before choosing to go inside and look. The other two followed behind Sam, one of them immediately catching his reflection in a far corner and waving at it merrily. 

Sam’s brow creased and a barely there whine clawed itself out of his throat, raw from the cold air. He staggered, ran straight into a mirror before he found his way again. His head was pounding in time with the frantic beating of his heart and he could hear them, hear it laughing, hear its steps falling so sure, like it knew its way through better than he did. Of course it did. 

“Come on,” He breathed, grunting and swallowing thickly. Tried to feel his way out, kept hitting walls and feeling like he was going around in circles. “Lucifer, please, not this.” 

But Lucifer was nowhere to be found, just eight clowns that may all be reflections of one, or two. Or three? Sam couldn’t tell because all three looked identical, gestured at each other and curled their painted red lips into a grimace and pointed at him in sync. 

The lights flickered and a high-pitched giggle rang through the space and echoed. 

“Saaaaammmy.” The voice was too close, sing-song and feet away, “We just want to play.”

Sam shook his head frantically. “Huh, rather not.” He bit out, and looked to the mirror on his right. Keeping his eyes fixed on the three (or more? Couldn’t tell) of them before he slammed his fist back into the glass (cut his knuckles, too, fuck did that sting) and stooped to grab a shard as an improvised weapon before he took off running again. The glass cut into his palm, his fingers, but he didn’t care. Felt safer with something in hand.

Sam ran and ran and took turns, stopped to reevaluate and then took more turns, and then he was running by a mirror that wasn’t a mirror, and he felt arms wrap around him and squeeze, lifting him off the floor, green wig hair scratching against his neck, “Got you.”

Sam jerked, struggling with all his might and aiming to drive the shard back. He didn’t have enough wiggle room, ended up dropping it. It shattered. “No, no, nonono- please! Please, no-“ He wailed, slamming his head back to try and catch it off guard.

A gloved hand reached up to grip Sam’s chin and then squeezed his cheeks playfully, “Shush, shush, shush.” And then he was being dragged kicking and screaming with sure wide steps through the halls of mirrors to an empty round space in the middle of the house, where the two other clowns were. 

It was mirrors everywhere, left and right and above and below. The one holding Sam dropped him on the ground and he saw his own reflection beneath him. 

Lucifer walked in just then, lips curled in disappointment, “I like to think you’d usually be faster and smarter than this. Is it the fear, Sam?”

Sam was hyperventilating, hands gripping at the sides of his head as he drew his knees up to his chest and shook his head.

“Why?” He questioned, voice wavering. “Why, I don’t- did I do something wrong?”

Lucifer looked at him quizzically, “Why? Why anything, Sam?” He inched closer and his face relaxed into something softer. He rested a hand on Sam’s cheek, gently brushing hair away from his eyes, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just wanna watch you cry. It’s been a while.”

Sam simpered, leaning into Lucifer’s touch. “Could do anything else. Anything. You know I-“ His eyes flickered to the side of the room, fixed on the clowns for just a moment before he wrenched his gaze back to the archangel. “Think I’m closer to pissing myself than crying.”

“Oh you’ll cry,” Lucifer crooned, kissed his forehead and then dropped his head to kiss below Sam’s ear, “And I know, I know, baby, but that’s why we’re doing this, right? Because it scares you out of your mind and we’ve just had a pretty mild decade, haven’t we? So sweet, so lovely, I was so kind. Fucking Hell, Sam, I have needs.”

Tongue trailed a line down Sam’s neck, and then teeth dug playfully around his collarbone, “You’re gonna let them fuck you. You’ll be a good little circus slut. We’ll fill every hole, mm?”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat and he whined. “No, no- Lucifer, no, please,” He begged, squirming away and trying to find an exit. Useless. “I’ll run, let me run, I’ll do better.” He felt his pulse in his neck, felt like he was going to throw up. “Please.”

“You’re not crying.” Lucifer curled his lips, pulling back and crouching in front of Sam, one hand wrapped around his ankle loosely, but ready to grab if he were to run, “Show me your best impression of crying your heart out. Come on.”

Sam let out a pitiful, strangled sort of cry and shook his head. He was quivering, hands shaking and every movement jerky. “Lucifer, please.” He whispered, tears beading in his eyes. “Not this, please.”

“Ehh, I’m not buying it. Take your clothes off. Slowly.”

Sam sobbed, then, shrugging off his jacket and letting it fall to the floor. He stared down at Lucifer, as if for confirmation, to search for mercy. He found none. “Please,” It felt like he couldn’t say anything else. He refused to look at anything other than the archangel, refused to acknowledge there was anything else in the room. His skin was standing up in goose flesh from the cold, flushed pink, and he was still shaking as he stripped off his shirt.

“I want more enthusiasm,” Lucifer hummed as he leaned back against one of the mirrors, crossing his legs and watching. The clowns whispered to each other, just obscene incoherent remarks, school-girl giggles echoing loud and obnoxious. Lucifer chuckled because it was so fucking ridiculous. 

“Move for me, dance.”

Sam almost tripped, halfway through yanking his pants off. He stumbled, fell to his knees before scrambling back up. “What? I don’t-“ He whimpered, tears streaming hot and wet down his face, hazing his vision. Kept undressing, kicked off his shoes and hesitated at his boxers, looking to Lucifer for elaboration and further instruction.

Lucifer twirled his finger in a full circle, half a smile on the corner of his lips, “Dance for me, spin, sway, flick your hair. Make yourself desirable. I want to see you try, Sammy.” He cocked his head, “Tempt me and I might just take you out of here and fuck you myself and wouldn’t that be a best case scenario?”

Sam sniffled, face a mess of tears and snot. He tried. He really did. Ran his hands over his chest, made a show, put himself on display and made a show of it. But he was panicking, too, so much frantic energy in the attempt of alluring motions, chest shaking with sobs. “Please,”

Lucifer chuckled heartily and waved at him to stop, “Okay, okay, that was a lot more sad than sexy. Right. Strip down and crawl to me,” He patted at his thigh. 

Sam pushed his boxers down his thighs, let them fall to the ground with everything else before he sank to his knees and dragged himself over to Lucifer. He buried his face in his thigh, clutched at his leg and screwed his eyes shut. “Please, please, just you, let it just be you. I can’t. I can’t.”

“But you’re so pretty like this,” Lucifer reasoned, twining his fingers in Sam’s hair, “Your soul in knots, so terrified, repulsed, so, um, traumatized? It’s very sweet.” He fisted his hand around hair roots and yanked Sam’s head up, “You’re gonna watch, in the mirror, when he fucks you. I’ll let you choose who goes first. And then you’ll take one in your mouth and another in your ass. And then I’m thinking of drilling another hole in you, I don’t know where yet, somewhere on your front so we can have the third under you, hm? Or would you wanna use your hand?”

Sam wailed. “Nuh, no, no, please, Lucifer- please,” He whispered, clutched a little tighter to him. After a moment he whimpered, screwed his eyes shut. “The one in the middle.” He croaked, voice barely there. Because if he let Lucifer choose, even for something so arbitrary, it would be the worst option. By far.

He wanted to scream, wanted to claw his heart out, wanted anything, anything, everything but this. 

Lucifer chewed on his lower lip, “The middle. Any particular reason?” He asked nonchalantly, and then dismissed the question and just beckoned the clown in the middle to come forward with two fingers, “Baby, would you have him go in dry or are you gonna ask your new friend to finger you a little? Spit on your asshole so it doesn’t hurt too much?”

Sam shook his head frantically, “No, n- nnot dry, not-“ He screwed his eyes tightly shut. He could practically feel it walking over, certainly heard the shrill laughter. It was when gloved fingers wrapped around his shoulders and yanked him back and up that he screamed.

The clown gripped him tight, shoved him forwards until his bare chest was against the cold glass. “What’s it gonna be, bucko?”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, everything trembling from head to toe, his heart hammering in his chest and his cock flaccid, so utterly repulsed and uninterested and Sam tightened his thighs and shrunk on himself, tense and shaking and his words blurted out between violent hiccuped sobs, “P-please finnnn- huh.” His hand still grabbed at Lucifer’s leg, pleading, “Finger me, first, first, please.”

There was that shrill, high giggle again as it traced its hands down, walking its fingers across Sam’s skin like spiders until it was kneeling, spreading Sam’s cheeks and spitting on his hole. Both hands retreated, presumably so it could peel off its gloves, and for a moment it seemed like nothing would come, nothing would happen. The suspense only made it worse when a teasing finger traced around the tight ring of muscle before almost inquisitively pushing in, curling up, joined by another as the clown quested to scissor Sam open.

Sam gritted his teeth and his head sank down, burying his face in Lucifer’s tigh again as he clutched at him for dear life and hissed and cried out with every aggressive motion prying him open. 

Lucifer tsked and slapped Sam’s cheek with two fingers, chiding softly, “You’re not watching. Is it because of me, sitting in the way? Should I go now and come back for you in, say, 3-4 hours?”

Sam sobbed, shaking his head. “Don’t leave me, dun’- no, no, don’t, I’ll watch, I’ll-“ He screamed out and kicked his legs back when suddenly the clown’s tongue was pushing inside, curling and licking up and it was too long, too long and too cold and so deep.

Sam’s entire body jerked, involuntary twitches and tremors travelling through his system as every muscle cramped and strained and he didn’t want to be in his body, his throat tightening and he could taste bile and he couldn’t keep himself still.

Lucifer grabbed his face by the jaw, lifted his head up and moved his own shoulder a little to the left so Sam can watch in the mirror behind him. His voice and tone and expression were so absolutely tender, dripping fondness, “Look how pretty, Sammy. Look at this breathtaking horror on your face. I can’t look away. No one breaks like you, baby, and I’d know, I’ve seen plenty. Keep watching.”

Sam scrabbled, clawed at Lucifer’s back and choked. Mouth open, throat twitching as he gagged and, “Gonna- please, don’t-“ He kicked out again, cock twitching as the clown’s tongue found his prostate and stayed there insistently, played with it until he was forced to erection and he hated it and he knew he was prepped enough and he wanted to get this over with, wanted it to be done. He couldn’t even see himself, too busy blinking tears that stung at his eyes away.

“Hmm. Look at that.” Lucifer chuckled and thumbed at Sam’s lips, forcing a knuckle between his teeth and letting Sam bite on his finger like a makeshift gag. His other hand drifted between Sam’s legs and he grabbed his cock and squeezed it at the base, “Oh, we’re having fun. You’re loving this. Tell me how much you love it.”

Sam jerked weakly, gasping as the clown’s tongue pulled out of him with a slick, wet sound, “Hnnn, no, please-“ He cried out. “No, no! No-“ He screamed as he was breached again, this time by its cock. Long, hard, and thick, he could almost feel each individual pulsing vein. He writhed, dug his nails into Lucifer’s shoulders. “Hurts, please, no-“ He ignored the image in the mirror, of the clown visible over his shoulders, eyes gleeful and malicious all in one, lined with blue and black grease paint, green wig still in place. 

Sam grunted, bile rising in his throat before he heaved, vomited over Lucifer’s shoulder. It burned, made him feel more disgusting than he did already.

Lucifer stroked his hair gently, holding him as Sam’s upper half slumped against his chest, jerking violently as he was fucked, “Easy, now, got that out of the way. Now we can focus on the good times, hmm?”

And then suddenly, absolutely out of nowhere, he snapped. Pulling Sam’s head by the hair and slamming it against the glass floor, smashing this corner of the ground mirror against Sam’s cheek. He yanked his head up again, half of his face bloody and bruising, and he growled, “I’ll rip your eyelids out. And when we’re done, I’ll take your eyes out. And then I’ll let him fuck your fucking skull through your eye-sockets if you so much as blink too long again. Wa-tch.”

Sam thrashed, struggled because he was almost too panicked to listen, to pay attention. But he knew well enough to keep his eyes open, to stare at the reflection in the mirror. “Sorry- ssssorry hurts please-“ He choked, whining. He was being fucked faster, each savage thrust rocking him forwards. Felt like he was being split in two, felt like death and the terror in the air, the fear written across his face was cloying, all encompassing.

When the clown finally came, felt like an eternity later, he shrieked. It coated his insides, filled him up, too much for just one load. “Stop-“  _ make it stop please _ .

Lucifer stared him down blankly, pushed him off of him and to the glass floor, pulled himself up to stand, “You’re so fucking whiny today, what’s your problem?” He almost spat, snapping his own shirt clean and wrinkling his face in disgust, “I’ll go stargaze. Been planning a meteor shower for tonight. Come join me when they’re done with you and when you’re a better company.” 

“Dn’t leave me- don’t leave me  _ please _ -“ Sam tried to no avail. And Lucifer left anyway. 

And when Lucifer walked out Sam sobbed and finally screwed his eyes shut, allowed himself that reprieve as he was manhandled back and onto his hands and knees. They went on for hours. Switching positions, and Sam didn’t even try to fight it, stopped trying to scream and just let himself cry as his throat was fucked raw and his ass was stuffed with two cocks and one of the clowns decided to run with Lucifer’s original idea, carved a gash into his lower stomach and fucked it like a cunt, slicked its cock up with blood and viscera.

By the time they’d finished his hole was gaped obscenely wide, stretched by fist and cock and it was leaking with god-knew how many loads of cum and probably piss; and his mouth hung open, jaw dislocated and bruised to all hell. He tried to drag himself forwards, nails digging into the slim cracks between the mirrors. “He’p- p’ease-“ 

No response.

He kept dragging himself, didn’t bother getting dressed, just half crawled, half heaved himself out and across the pavement, onto dusty dirt, onto a grassy hill wet with dew. “Lucifer,” He croaked, tugged at the grass as an attempt at leverage, brought himself up a few inches before the wet blades came out with clods of dirt. Again, again, until he was crying again, smeared with mud along with everything else as he collapsed beside a white and red checkered blanket folded out on the grass where Lucifer sat cross-legged.

Lucifer glanced at him for a split second, before hooking his arms under Sam’s and dragging him up and onto the blanket. He pressed his palm to his forehead and healed all physical injuries. No words spoken, not a comment or an emotion on his face. He picked up another small blanket from a nearby picnic basket, folded it around Sam and he squeezed himself under it and leaned back to lie down next to him. He wrapped an arm around him, holding him to his chest, and he breathed out like he’d been made to wait for too long, but was going to let it slide anyway. 

“Look.” And Lucifer pointed up and the sky was shooting lights and splendor, his smile broad and genuine, soft, peaceful, “Falling stars. Do you know they’re just cosmic dust?”


	2. Happy Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so: this one is pretty extreme (not as extreme as last chapter, for this bit) and we’ve split it into two parts for reasons you will see once you reach the end: the chapter after this will delve into what Lucifer says he’s going to do to Sam, so if you think that would squick you out don’t read it because it was hard at parts to even write for us. Enjoy!
> 
> Chapter-specific tags: edging, orgasm denial, verbal abuse, horror.

Sometimes date nights would go something like this: Sam would have no memory of who he was. Sam would be Steve, or Carl, or Sandy, or Delilah. Sam would be a software engineer, or a high school student, or a stripper, or a marine, or a waitress. Lucifer would run into him in a library (they’d brush their fingers picking up the same book) or Lucifer would be the stranger next to him on the bus (or on a plane to South Africa); Lucifer would be his new boss, or an old flame, or his childhood best friend moving back into town. They would chat, get to know each other, laugh. And then they would go for a drink, or a meal, or a walk. And then it was either a small apartment or a back alley or an empty storage room and they would make out, they would start fucking. 

And right before Sam was about to cum, Lucifer would give him his memories back. 

And then, always, “Cum for me, Sammy.”

Sometimes Sam would be too overwhelmed, too betrayed, too hurt, too devastated to keep his dick hard, let alone cum. Those times would hurt Lucifer’s feelings, or at least so he would say. Those times wouldn’t usually end well. 

It didn’t end well four days ago. It was still in the process of not ending well, today. 

Sam’s wrists were tied together behind his back, pulled up so high, and he had to bend down so low. His knees hadn’t stopped buckling for a small eternity and it wasn’t just because he was forced to stay on his feet all along. (He wanted to sit down and curl and stretch and maybe just get his fucking legs amputated so he can just stop standing more than anything else in the world. Well, there was one thing he wanted more. Wanted so, so desperately.)

There was a man knelt down between his legs. A man, Sam thought, just so he wouldn’t go crazy. The man had no eyes, or nose, or hair. Had a mouth though, a tongue, a throat. Perfectly formed hands. 

Lucifer didn’t bother with the details when they served no purpose. 

The man, the… the thing, had his mouth on Sam’s cock non-stop. Hadn’t pulled back for a second. Would alternate between deepthroating him, bobbing his head up and down with various velocities, or just gently, slowly, slowly, lapping and licking and kissing. 

There was another man too, of course, also knelt down, also between his legs. Except this one was behind him, had his ass cheeks spread open and his face buried in between. He licked and kissed and rimmed, ate Sam out like he was made to do it. 

He was made to do it. They were both made to do it. Fuck machines. They had no faces. 

And they wouldn’t let him cum. 

He so desperately needed to. Wanted to. It was the biggest thought in his mind, felt like the only thought in his mind.  _ Please, please, been so long, lemme cum _ . He whined, could barely jerk his hips, could only take what they gave him.

And as soon as his cock was twitching, balls drawing up, they drew back and he  _ wailed _ . “No- no, please, please,” He groaned, and the mouth on his cock was just lapping at the head, just kissing so gently along the shaft and it was torture.

“Please!” He cried. Skin flushed red, sheened with sweat; veins standing out on his neck and muscles tensed and shaking. “Need, please,” Didn’t have any other words. Were there any other words? All he wanted...he wanted so badly, like a man starved. It was an emptiness, a need, just like breathing was a need and he was drowning in it.

“Huhh- nn, please, please, need- I need, please,” He groaned out, writhing and jerking and doing everything he could to tip himself over the edge, to cum, to find relief even when he knew there was none.

But the thing between his legs had no ears, either. Never seemed to react to anything but Sam’s natural cues, when he was close, when he wasn’t, when it could edge so gently and when it could dive right in with fervor. No matter what Sam said or pleaded it simply kept the same rhythm of tender and slow and  _ not enough.  _ The other one always seemed to get the memo though, eating his hole out with just a little more enthusiasm. 

Not enough. They knew the exact level of not enough. 

Four days, going on the fifth. Ninety-eight hours precisely. How many times had it been? How many ruined orgasms, how many times had his cock had been left weeping precum and throbbing an angry red? Sam lost count after the first few hours and, in all honesty, he wouldn’t have had any reference (or interest or care) for time if Lucifer didn’t visit at least once a day to remind him of it.

And when he did come, eventually (afternoon of day five!), Lucifer looked barely inquisitive. 

“Sam,” Always chewed on the name like it had an exotic taste to it, like it was his first time saying it, “Buddy, how are we doing?”

Sam simpered, writhing as well as he could and jerking with as much leeway as he was given. “Please, please, L’cifer- Lucifer, please, need- lemme- please?” He croaked. “It hurts, I hurt, please. Gonna-“ He groaned, chest heaving as he gasped. Didn’t look down at the two things, imagined anything else but what they were. Needed something human but that something was nowhere to be found, and he knew Lucifer wouldn’t touch him.

“You, want you, lemme cum please? Please, please, Lucifer, s- sso- so close, gonna- please?”

“Oh but I did, Sammy. I did let you, and what does your ungrateful cock do, hm? Goes all limp on me. You know we can’t have that kind of attitude in this house.” Lucifer tutted with a barely there chuckle like it was so fucking amusing, like Sam didn’t feel as if he were about to burst, and he buried a hand in matted hair, drenched in sweat and dripping. He ruffled it lazily, eyes dropping to inspect the things between Sam’s legs, going to town on his every nerve ending. 

“Aw. Aren’t you a pretty little puddle of need?” He huffed a brief chuckle, “Want ‘me,’ huh?”

Sam sobbed, nodding frantically. “Want you, wanna cum, yes, yes, please.” Sam arched desperately into Lucifer’s hand, gasping for air like he’d just been drowned, and he wanted to reach out and claw at Lucifer and hold him close and never let go, wanted him and his grace and his cock and his tongue, wanted  _ everything _ . Wanted to cum.

“I’m sorry- sorry, please, need you.” He would have prayed if he had the brain capacity.

Lucifer raised a brow and smiled something blank and not particularly interested. Tapped a finger against the thing’s scalp and it instantly let Sam’s cock slip out of its lips with a pop, hands reaching up to stroke his length slowly instead. Its head perked up and it shoved its nonexistent face against Sam’s own, and it was bony and smooth and sickeningly featureless save for the grin with too many teeth hissing against Sam’s ear. 

“See, Sammy, these lies, this ingratitude. I’d rather put your tongue to better use.” Lucifer hummed and clicked his own tongue for emphasis.

The thing ambushed Sam’s lips with its own, smearing precum and pulling and biting and taking, kissing Sam like it fucking loved him more than anything.

Sam managed to hiss out a barely there ‘no’ before he cried out into its mouth, trying to jerk his head back instinctively because it was wrong, everything about it was wrong. But he had to suffer, had to suffer so beautifully and then maybe Lucifer would let him cum. So he parted his lips and even though he was sobbing he kissed back with fervor and false passion and he hoped it was enough and  _ mercy, mercy, let me cum _ .

Lucifer watched the token resistance with a measure of interest before that was quickly gone and Sam was kissing the thing with as much love and passion as he could fake and it was pretty fucking cute, really. 

“Ah. So you’d do even that to cum, huh?” Lucifer crooned and swatted the thing’s head. It immediately left Sam’s lips, returning to his cock and sucking just as vigorously as before, if not more. 

“If I let you cum, would you let me waterboard you after?”

Sam grunted and nodded eagerly, barely able to choke out the words because it was back up to speed again and he had been getting shorter and shorter intervals of full pleasure that had him shaking, writhing, mouth forming curses and swears and pleas but lungs refusing to push anything out other than moans and whines. 

“Yesss,” He finally hissed because it wasn’t even a question, he’d do anything, this was too much and he hated it. “Any- anything.”

Lucifer grinned lazily and his hand in Sam's hair slipped down to between his shoulder blades, all pulled back tight and strained. He left it there, considering. 

"Anything, mm. How about I break all ten of your fingers with a nut-cracker. You'd let me do that?"

The choice of words was unfamiliar. "Let," more than anything because Sam didn't need to let Lucifer do anything to him. It was just done to him and he took it. But the question made it sound like an actual choice and maybe, just maybe, it was. 

“Yes. Yes. Anything. Please. Wanna cum, anything after, anything, anything lemme- lemme please-“ Sam groaned, tears streaming down his face as he tried to rock his hips forward. “Close, so close, so long, please- please! Lucifer please- let me cum, take anything, do anything, lemme cum.”

“But that’s the behavioral problem we’re trying to fix right here, Sammy. You have no self-control.” Lucifer mumbled and he sounded like a disappointed teacher, “You talk the talk, you do. It’s sweet. But then once we’re walking the walk, it’s all begging and pleading and ‘please please Lucifer make it stop’?” He twined his fingers in Sam’s hair and yanked his head up, leaning over him a little and his eyes glowed and burnt. 

And then for some reason (emphasis) the thing between Sam’s ass-cheeks spread them just a little while and shoved its tongue (too long, too wide, too wet) all the way in.

“So you’re saying ‘anything,’ right? I let you cum right now and then we can roast you alive? How about I impale you and then roast you alive? Well, how about I impale you and  _ then _ roast you alive and then put you in a box and bury you ten feet under and leave you there for...mm, 10 years?”

Lucifer tilted his head to the side and arched an expectant brow, “Say yes and I’ll let you cum right now.” It wasn’t fair and he knew it. But that was the beauty of all of this.

Sam wailed, throwing his head back as he was caught between jerking his hips forward and back, still just barely listening, just the edges, just ‘yes and I’ll let you cum right now’ and he was sold. “Yes!” Because he could cum, and he’d be let down and he’d get a moment of respite. “Please, yes, yesyesyes-“ He breathed, pressing so expectantly, so eagerly into Lucifer’s touch. “Need, yes, anything,” Not full sentences, far past that at this point. “Anything, anything, Lucifer, yes, yes, yess-“

“If you say so, buddy.” Lucifer shrugged and let Sam’s head drop, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. 

The two humanoid things sparked into action, the first swallowing Sam’s cock so deep down its throat, warm and tight and constricting around it as it fucked its head over the pulsing aching member like there was no tomorrow. The other’s tongue fucking his hole just out of sync, in and out, stimulating every nerve ending, fast, aggressive, overwhelming, and so fucking good. 

And when Sam passed the point of no return they didn’t stop, and it was a free-fall into an explosion that had been seething in his lower belly for so long it couldn’t wait for release. 

Was going to get it’s release. Except Lucifer snapped his fingers the second it started the two faceless things disappeared. No tight warmness around Sam’s cock to ride that climax, nothing but emptiness between his still slick and slippery ass cheeks to sustain the pleasure.

Nothing. Just a ruined orgasm and Sam was cumming anyway.

He wailed as he spilled himself onto the floor, surging forwards and gasping. Face going from bliss, to confusion, to loss and frustration and then deep set, gut clenching dread. Post nut clarity just got a whole hell of a lot more rueful.

He was still shaking, legs still threatening to give out, body still soaked in sweat and skin still flushed pink. “Why,” He whispered. Why did you take them away, why would you take advantage of me (again), why, why,  _ why _ .

“Fuck-“ And it was still so overwhelming, still high on adrenaline and emotions and everything else.

Lucifer snapped again and the bonds around Sam’s wrists disappeared too. And Sam fell to the floor immediately. 

“You never get tired of asking the same question?” He asked, rather fondly, as if this was a little quirky habit he was willing to tolerate. He stepped forward and  _ tsked _ playfully, towering over Sam and staring down and letting out an exacerbated sigh, “You miss your gimps already? Tell you what, we can try this all again after you pay your dues. But for now, mm, we’re gonna impale you slow and nice. I’m thinking all the way through though, your downstairs hole to the piehole you can’t seem to control, mkay? And then we’re gonna set up a little campfire and grill you a bit, and then I’ll let you pick your coffin and dig your own grave. Aaaand... I guess I’ll see you an hour or so after that. One decade for you. But you know how much I’ll miss you, so, yeah- an hour for me.”

He tapped the tip of his boot against Sam’s chin, one, two, three times, and “Any last words?”

Sam sobbed weakly, curling up and drawing his knees up to his chest. He hated when it ended like this. Every damn time, every time he asked for it, gave his yes, it was worse. And it was consent under duress, forced, not real, but that didn’t matter. Never mattered because it was still a yes and at this point he didn’t dare protest. 

“Please.” He tried, voice choked with tears. He’d beg more, beg prettier when the time came. But the last time he’d been split open, impaled like that it had been a Judas cradle with razor blades on the edges and they weren’t doing that again, so there were small mercies. Not that it would hurt any less. “Didn’t mean- please.”

Lucifer crouched and held Sam up to his knees, resting both palms on his shoulders and nodding, “No, baby, you did mean it- because, when this…” And his hand slipped down to grab Sam’s wet flaccid cock and squeezed, “-wants, you’re a mindless slut. And when it doesn’t, you’re a little disobedient bitch. And honestly, kiddo, I’d use the next 10 years in solitary working on getting this stupid useless piece of flesh to behave if I were you. Right, Sammy? Gonna get your cock to behave for me?”

“I’m human. It’s not fair.” Human was never enough, though. “It’s not fair, Lucifer, please.” Sam shook his head, brow creased. And Lucifer didn’t do ‘fair’. He might do just, he might do deserved, but ‘fair’ wasn’t something he dealt in. “It’s not going to do anything, you know, you know, you kn-know it won’t do anything please,” Tears were beading in his eyes again and he whimpered, pulling back.

“Get over yourself, Sam. It’s not ‘fair’ that I’ve been here for eons. You don’t see me whining about it 24/7. Now unless you wanna beg and grovel, which I’m kinda in the mood for but I doubt would do you any good, let’s get started?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us know what you think! Seriously any time I read a comment from you guys it tends to make my goddamn week :) and I think I can say the same for InHisImage


	3. The Great Outdoors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets worse! 
> 
> Chapter-specific tags: sexual violence, graphic torture, gore, burning, burial, claustrophobia, everything that comes with being in a coffin six feet under.

Sam closed his eyes. He’d never get anywhere with it anyways. Useless. It always made him feel weak, made him feel so small. “Don’t...make me do it myself. Please.” He conceded, whispering as if it were shameful. It was.

Lucifer frowned, “You know I don’t like it when you starfish, Sammy. Par-ti-cipate.” He hummed, standing up and looking around the room, “Wanna do this here, or would you rather sunlight and fresh air?” Sounded so conversational, so casual, and a long thick stake was already materializing in his hand.

“Air.” Sam croaked. It took him so long to force himself to his feet, legs shaking because he’d been holding himself up for so long already and he was staggering forwards to grip onto Lucifer’s side for support, hoping so desperately at least that would be allowed. He stared at the stake, grateful at least that it was mostly smooth because he really didn’t need splinters on top of everything else he was going to endure.

Lucifer gave Sam all the physical support needed, letting Sam lean against him and occasionally holding him up, wrapping his arms around his waist or his middle or giving him an arm to clutch at. Until the environment around them finalized and settled into a field with a midday sun that wasn’t too hot and green and openness with forest on the edges and blue skies. 

“Better? Come on, champ. I’ll let you get it in and then I’ll help with the way up.”

Sam cringed in on himself. He let himself slump to the ground, back on the grass as he stared up at Lucifer. It would be easier lying down. 

Part of him wanted to run. The scared part, the part that liked to think this wasn’t all a simulation, that the woods on the edge of the wide open field were a thing he could hide in and Lucifer wouldn’t know exactly where he was. He’d learned that was far from the case so long ago.

He didn’t like doing things like this to himself. He doubted anyone would but the fact he’d asked for it, the face Lucifer wouldn’t just get it over with and he’d made his bed and had to lie in it too was too much. 

It wasn’t painful at first. Lucifer had been so fucking considerate, tapered point and smooth wood and everything. He groaned, brow creased as he slowly worked it into himself, hands shaking as he squirmed. Not like he wasn’t well prepped.

Six inches in and it was wider, more of a challenge. Thick as his wrist and he was whining, panting, chest heaving as his toes curled in the grass. “Help,” He whispered. “Can’t do it,”

Lucifer watched silently, only mildly entertained, occasionally gazing away to stare at the sky or run his fingers through grass blades or whatever the fuck he did when he’d summon pure energy and knot it into ribbons. 

“Use your weight and gravity.” He offered, not quite moving to help yet, just waving with his hand for Sam to stand up and get on with it, “You know, uh, sit on it, drive it down. I won’t intervene until you’re at least halfway in.”

Sam grit his teeth and forced himself up, jaw clenched as he did just as Lucifer said- let out a muffled yell into his fist when it went too far, too fast and he had to stop himself. He looked down, saw the shadow of an outline in his lower stomach. It hurt, felt like he’d torn something, felt too thick and he knew it would get thicker. He was panting, chest heaving and soft whines of pain were clawing their way out from his throat.

He gave himself a minute of rest before he sat back again, until the length of wood seated in him was as long as his forearm and as thick as his shin and he could feel it rearranging his guts. He screamed, took the opportunity to press back, to get it over with. Like ripping off a bandaid in one felled swoop. And then he was grunting, gasping, because it was starting to push at his diaphragm, though it had thankfully not pierced anything yet, and air just refused to come in as much as he needed it to.

“Ahh, there we go.” Lucifer hummed and stood up then, made his way to Sam and gave him a small empty smile that didn’t emote on his face at all. And he stood over Sam, leaned forward to clasp his hands around his middle, “Lift your feet up off the ground,” He commanded, looking down at Sam’s face, his gaze finally showing any sort of genuine amusement. 

Sam simpered, grunting and shaking his head. He was hyperventilating, breath whistling through his nose as he gasped and slowly lifted his feet. Braced the soles against the pole, used it as support because he wouldn’t let go fully, body, instinct wouldn’t let him. “Gnh- Lucifer, please-“ He grunted out, arching his back and screwing his eyes shut. “Please, I can’t, no more, mercy- please, please, huh, hurts-“

“Arms around my neck, baby,” Lucifer ordered, again, “feet off of  _ everything _ .” He held Sam’s weight, not up, not down, just exactly where it was, just for a moment even as his body slumped further down the stake naturally. And then Lucifer slipped an arm off of him and down between his legs to grab at the stake lodged between ass cheeks, “Breathe while you can.” And then he pushed the stake up while simultaneously dropping most of Sam’s weight down. 

It was forceful and brutal and so utterly damaging to insides that were neither prepared for the invasion nor able to withstand or accommodate it. It tore and ripped, and Sam’s lips sputtered blood, along with the lines of it that dripped down his thighs. 

Sam screamed before he was cut off abruptly, and he was choking, gasping, retching, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth, staining his teeth red as he reached out to claw and clutch desperately at the archangel. “Nn- nnno Please- guh-“ He groaned, throwing his head back and keeping it there because it would be better for the point to go out his mouth rather than through his skull when it finally got there. He sobbed, kicking out but keeping himself from planting his feet on the ground again.

“Aw. I’m gonna miss those noises once we get all the way up and your throat is full, hm?” Lucifer mused and after a few seconds, did the same thing again. Another push up and another drop down. He could see right through Sam’s skin, could have chosen a path of less resistance, except he didn’t care, really. Sam won’t die anyway, not down here. Nothing will. And that’s an injustice in and of itself.

It ripped through his guts, through his stomach, through his liver, pierced all the way up to shove at the opening of his esophagus. 

Sam gagged, throat spasming as he choked. Barely able to give more than a rasping whine, barely able to do anything. Couldn’t move back or forth, didn’t have the energy to jerk at his arms or legs anymore. But he was crying, tears rolling down flushed cheeks, clearing lines over his blood soaked chin and neck.

As he fell again, pole not fully through, yet, but into his throat, scratching at the back of it and making him feel like he’d have to vomit if he wasn’t stuffed so damn full, so he gave the approximation of a scream and jerked. The rest of the way in and he sobbed, working his jaw and biting down weakly onto wood soaked with blood and gore. His eyes slipped shut, everything tensed and quivering and pain, so much fucking pain he was so close to passing out but he never could. Never got the escape.

The stake was no longer balanced on the ground, most of its length already inside, and the few inches that still remained, Lucifer was clutching on them. But it wasn’t like he needed to anymore. He gave a final push upwards and watched the wood protrude from between Sam’s lips. And then he let go. 

He still held most of Sam’s weight up as his feet dragged against the grass like a marionette. 

“All done. Think you can stand up and give me a twirl?”

Sam blinked rapidly, face contorting in agony as he put his weight on his feet and staggered. His head was forced up, eyes fixed skyward as his throat twitched around the post. Steps were unsteady, stiff, unsure and a Herculean effort. Almost fell a few times as he made a slow circle. The way his chest jerked, the way he whined, Lucifer could tell he was sobbing.

_Please kill me-_

“Good jooob.” Lucifer intoned, his tone finally engaged, somewhat excited, “That’s super fucking sweet, Sammy, why don’t we do this more often? Well, never too late to start a new routine. Anyway. Follow me. Walk or crawl or drag yourself, see whichever is easier, I don’t care, just keep the pace.”

He finished his sentence and started walking away, his steps not exactly wide but not slow either, “We’ll collect wood, for the fire. Come on.”

Sam let himself fall to his knees and the grunted scream of pain as the post was jostled inside of him was primal, was gut-wrenching. He crawled, found moving his hips awkward but he made do. Trudged along and tried to ignore the burning, throbbing, tearing, white hot pain. At some point he collapsed, found himself clawing at his throat because breathing was too hard and everything was dotted and fuzzy around the edges and he couldn’t keep going and he couldn’t call for Lucifer to wait.

Lucifer paused a few steps away from Sam, turned to look back at him and furrowed his brows, “Move.” And he heard Sam’s voiceless plea for help and was responding directly to it, “You’re suffocating, I said I don’t care. Keep moving.”

Biology worked in cruel mysterious ways in the cage. Nothing incapacitated Sam’s mobility save for removing actual limbs and/or bondage. Otherwise most internal damage caused more agony than it did limit his ability to move, just made it impossibly painful sometimes. Still, Lucifer knew he could climb a fucking mountain through choking to death. It was a little funny to play with those rules, adjust them so they didn’t end particular events too early. 

Sam’s brow creased and he would have wailed if he could. His face was red, flushed from exhaustion and the fact he couldn’t take in air no matter how much he tried. He couldn’t force himself to his knees either so he dragged himself. Fisted hands in the grass and pulled himself forwards, let his eyes slip shut because the tears stung too much.

He didn’t know how long they went on. Just knew that his arms felt like fire and he could barely feel anything below the waist. But they were at the edge of the treeline. He raised pleading eyes to Lucifer, simpering. His skin had gone from flushed crimson to blue, and the whites of his eyes were full red from the blood vessels that had burst there.

Eventually, Lucifer stopped and stepped closer to him, knelt to rub his hair a little affectionately, “Suffering so, so much, aren’t we? I was planning to have you help with the collecting. But I’ll be nice.” He slapped Sam’s cheek lightly, as if to keep him alert through the haze of pain, “You’ll mule it for me though, the wood, on your back. Since I can’t just have you lying here useless, right?”

Sam blinked once, his  _ yes,  _ and after a minute or two of struggling had managed to prop himself up enough to try and scramble to his hands and knees. It was slow, and there were too many things on the forest floor that pressed too hard into his palms and knees and made it that much harder to keep going. And after a while the weight of the wood felt like too much, but it wasn’t like his back could slump with the post going through him, could it?

When they’d collected more than enough wood pieces, more than necessary really, Lucifer led them to a small area that was clean of trees, perfect for camping, and he knelt by Sam’s side, wiped his dirtied hand over the side of his face and then slipped between his legs to grab his cock, again, “Wanna cum for me for a reward?”

The question was genuine, a choice, and Lucifer’s voice infiltrated Sam’s brain waves and he was accessing straight into his thoughts. 

_ No twisting your arm. If you don’t want to, I won’t force it. What would it be, baby? _

Sam flinched and closed his eyes. It was his dick that got him into this mess in the first place, really. It felt pointless, felt like a trap, felt like a slap in the face, really. He knew better than to assume he wouldn’t be able to get hard when he was in this much pain. He’d had worse and he’d cum untouched.  _ No, no, please. _ He hoped it was a real choice and not a test. He hurt so much, all he wanted to do was lie down and let Lucifer build the fire. All he wanted to do was rest.

“Yeesh. You’re no fun. Alright.” He gave Sam’s cock a single squeeze then let it be. And he started unloading the wood off his back. Once it was all on the ground between them, he hummed, more tongue-in-cheek because he’d heard the last thought too, “Now stand up still and wait until I’m done.” 

Sam whimpered and jerked, struggling to lift himself up and failing miserably. Couldn’t even push himself to just rest on his knees, couldn’t manage it. Needed help and hoped Lucifer would give it.

“Poor baby needs help, hmm? Always so needy, Sammy. What would you ever do without me?” He mused playfully, didn’t turn, wasn’t even looking at him, just staking the wood pieces neatly and giving Sam his back. 

Sam still felt a surge of grace lift him up in an instant and land him on his feet and then quickly fade away. 

Sam swayed, reached out for something to support himself but found nothing. He stood still aside from the occasional wobble and stared up at the foliage, would have had to bow to look at Lucifer.

He didn’t know how long it had been, only that sun had faded into night, by the time the fire had started going.

Lucifer clicked his tongue, hands on his hips as he watched Sam for a moment. “Hold on,” He hummed, walking forward and bracing his hand against the human’s back, not for support but for what he was going to do next. He needed a mount, after all, and while the post was long, too long, it still wasn’t long enough. Didn’t have enough overhang on either side. Sam wailed as it lengthened, pushed through him again and tore just a little bit more.

“So much whining, from you, Sam. It’s sad. I could have made you build the fire.” Lucifer informed, and in an instant, Sam was suspended over it. Ends of the pole held by two posts on opposite sides of the fire, so he could be turned or even lifted back away again. Wrists and ankles now bound, lashed either to the pole or behind his back.

Sam didn’t complain, for that. Bondage wasn’t new, suspension wasn’t new, even the pole itself could be mitigated to a throbbing ache rather than the forefront of his mind, though everything was still cloudy.

And at first the fire wasn't too bad either. Just warm, the occasional flame dancing across his back enough to get him to squirm but nothing more.

And then his skin felt tight, and he knew it was red and it felt swollen and it felt like he was cooking and Lucifer just kept stoking the flames, they rose higher but never high or hot enough to catch on and engulf him. But enough that his back was blistered and his sides were tight as his skin was cracking. He jerked again, throat twitching with those inaudible sobs again. Eventually the musty sweet smell of cooking flesh filled the clearing, and Sam could feel clear pus dripping from burst blisters to sizzle in the embers of the fire and he could sense Lucifer approaching again, carefully turning him so that now his side lay over the fire.

This wasn’t new either. But for all the shredding and tearing and breaking and twisting, fire may have been the absolute worst of them all. (Complete isolation was worse, but he was going to get that too, lucky him, all his favorites). Fire just had a way of pushing every other pain aside and dominating his everything. Fire was possessive and tyrannical and it never left a thought unmangled, muddled his brain and inflamed his senses and his nerves screamed even when he couldn’t. 

Sometimes the slow-roasting was a lot worse than burning because it was, well, slower. Because fire didn’t eat him away, just cooked him. Sam would stare at the shadows of the flames and wonder if they danced and played and if they had Lucifer’s brutality in the way they loved to consume. 

Sam wanted to die often. Half of his existence was just an interrupted plea to death to just come and spare him. But when it was fire, he wanted to have never been born. He wanted oblivion. He wanted void and nothingness and for the world to have never heard his name. 

Obliterating, so fucking slow. 

He made guttural butchered noises and drooled and sweat every moisture he had within him and his body wrinkled and tightened and sizzled and the rawness, the worst part was the rawness. Being stripped of more than clothes until the most inner parts of him were exposed and shrieking too. 

Fire was vengeful, fire couldn’t be ridden or mitigated or ignored. Always demanded an audience and got his full attention. Just like Lucifer did. 

His thoughts were a jumble of senselessness. Disjointed, feral and primal and desolate. 

_ Anything. Anything. Out. Away. Stop. Anything else. End it. Die. End it. Anything. Mercy. _

Time felt stretched. Slow. Maybe it was Lucifer, maybe it was Sam himself, but it was colossal and aching and every second was a century. Everything swollen, hard, aching; the scarce layer of fat under his skin breaking down until nothing sat right anymore, until skin was wrinkled even with all the inflammation.

And it never stopped hurting. He never got the mercy of his nerve endings burning away, the fire had his full, constant attention. Lucifer was barely a part of the equation, even though he did talk from time to time. Praise, teasing, Sam barely heard it. At some point his eyes went glassy and clouded when Lucifer let his front face the fire for too long and there was nothing but dark and pain for the rest of the time after that. 

He didn’t notice when the fire was gone, when he was lifted away because everything was still so hot, everything was still cooked and it was beyond horrible.

Lucifer laid him down on the ground and eyed him neutrally, pressing his lips in slow deliberation, “I’ll pull the stake down a little and clear your airway, hm? And you’re going to pray like your next decade depends on it, because, well, it does.”

He finished his sentence and pressed a palm to Sam’s scorched chest, still too hot to the touch. He pushed down, grinding his back against the forest floor and pinning him in place. Not that Sam had any energy to move an inch. His other hand fisted around the other end of the stake and he wrenched. One brutal pull until the upper end of the stake was lodged back below Sam’s rib cage and his mouth and throat were mangled and shredded but… empty. 

Sam gasped sharply, spluttering and whining as his eyes rolled back in his head. He slurred out something low and gravelly, maybe enochian, too unintelligible to tell. He was barely there, barely cognizant, but he’d been praying desperately for centuries, for millennia, and he’d gotten it down to a science. Didn’t take the time to breathe, but the quick and wheezing rasps he took between words that filled his lungs were like heaven, even though they burned and everything was still shredded there was  _ air _ and it was glorious.

And if he went underground he’d only get so many hours of that, so he had to make this count. Reverence, would have knelt prostrate if he could only find the energy in his cooked flesh to move. But he was speaking these guttural approximations of words like they were a penance, like they were everything to him, and they were.

Because even if he could bear the fire, though his mind was slipping and he couldn’t see and everything still burned, he knew he wouldn’t take the burial. That Lucifer would have to put a broken mind back together when he was done with it.

Lucifer grunted something frustrated and rose to his feet, “No, Sam, I’m not feeling the love, like, at all.” He smacked his lips, and there was absolutely no expression on his face because those were put upon for Sam and Sam couldn’t see. So nothing. Absolute blankness and if there were a third in the cage, it would have made their skin crawl. 

“Up on your knees and suck my cock.”

Sam’s brow creased. Hearing was hard, was fuzzy, he had to focus hard to hear much of anything. Everything tensed, flexed, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t force himself up, couldn’t move and he was starting to get hysterical about it, tears beading in unseeing eyes as they rolled wildly.

“You know what? Fine, my bad. I was going to heal you because I’m just this considerate and I wanted to give you a relatively painless coffin experience, but sure, be like that.” He complained, made it sound like he genuinely believed himself, like he genuinely believed Sam was just not putting enough effort, earning his punishment all over again. 

He bent over him and grabbed his ankle and straightened up to start walking forward, dragging Sam by the leg behind him. 

Sam wailed, head flopping uselessly to the side. He wanted to struggle, wanted to scream but he couldn’t and that alone was breaking him. Wasn’t his fault, wasn’t fair, but fair never mattered. Tears streamed down his face and those hurt too, his back hurt even more than it did already where the grass and sticks dragged at it, and it felt like Lucifer was going to devolve his foot with how hard he was gripping and pulling and Sam couldn’t even say ‘stop’.

Lucifer walked a few more minutes until they were out of the forest and back in the field. And there was a box waiting that Sam couldn’t see, and the ground was open and ready.

“Well, here we are.” Lucifer dropped his leg and leaned over him to carry him up, chatting as he held him close for a moment before carefully laying him down in the coffin, “You know I like you better pretty, Sammy. The things you make me do to you. Anyway, almost done. Couple of hours from now and I think we can rewatch Lord of the Rings like you wanted? I might cook us something until you’re done here.” 

Sam sobbed, hiccuping and screwing his eyes shut. “Nnnh-“ He wanted to plead but it still hurt too much. He stared up in Lucifer’s general direction and whimpered, didn’t breath a word of protest when the lid went down over him because in all honesty it was a few seconds before he even noticed it, how his strangled breaths heated the air in front of him, how he felt closed in.

Underground he could definitely tell. It was cool, that, at least, was a small mercy. And for a while he could breathe easily, try to force himself to relax because at least he couldn’t see that the walls were inches from his face, inches from his sides.

He started panicking hours in. When the air was decidedly thinner and he could feel the wood creaking, knew (hoped) it wouldn’t collapse in because he couldn’t move anyway and he’d rather asphyxiate from lack of oxygen than from being smothered by dirt.

Days (was it days? Or was it still day one, he couldn’t tell, couldn’t count the seconds, couldn’t distract himself because everything still hurt so fucking much and he couldn’t drift away and lose himself in it). Days later he started hearing things. Aside from his stuttering, weak heartbeat and his heavy, raspy breathing. Aside from the vague things he hummed to himself. Crawling in the dirt, maybe, rustling in the leaves above ground. That was when he started panicking again. Even though he couldn’t move. He wanted to thrash because the very thought horrified him.

He wasn’t dead, he didn’t decompose, so he didn’t attract anything. At first. But worms found their way to the little pine box six feet under through their usual rounds of tilling the soil. 

No decomposition, but flesh was cooked and soft and that was close enough and they could burrow in, he could feel them writhing under his skin and he could do nothing but sob even as he was gasping so desperately for air.

At some point he fell completely limp, not even moving his head or tensing because there was no air and he was so, so tired and he couldn’t sleep.

After a while it became that he could deal so easily with the worms. Try to ignore the alien, not right feeling under his skin, in his muscles, everywhere, everywhere, when they’d first gone for his eyes he’d howled.

Beetles were bad. Ants were worse. Because they could bite and sting and lay eggs, and if there was one thing he hated more than being burrowed into it was being burrowed out of.

Soft tissues (softer than the rest of him at any rate) went first. His cock, the remains of his eyes. Ears, brain (but he could still think, could still feel and it was so wrong), tongue, lips, and throat.

His mind had fallen away, too. Prayer was there, his name was there, the constants: Sam, Cage, Lucifer, Punishment, were there. But other things fell away. Memory, experience, anything other than pain and his newfound company. The beetle that seemed so pleased with chewing little holes and boring into his cheek, whatever was squirming in his belly.

_End it kill me please kill me kill me kill me-_

Ten years passed so colossally slow and by the end of it he looked dead. Skin farrowed and wrinkled and all but eaten away, chest not rising or falling with breath, no outward sign of life save for the occasional impossible whimper.

Well, Lucifer had finished the spaghetti and meatballs just in time. 

It was one of those days where they’d have to eat in bed in front of a cinema screen because Sam would need as much rest as he can get. 

He’d watched, a little, of what happened down there, while he cooked. Would check in every 10 minutes or so just because waiting on the pasta to boil was mind-numbingly boring. The small house he’d prepared for the next few years was nice. Cottage-like, cozy. Sam would like it. There was a lake nearby and the garden outside was a beauty. 

He was thinking of getting Sam a dog too. Was caught between something big like a lab or small and lap-sized- a corgi. He’d have to think more about that later, before the food got cold. 

They’d done something like this so many times it was routine. Open the ground, lift out the box, open the box, and not focus too much on what became of the boy because it broke his heart just a little. Not enough to regret it.

Healing. Instant. Reborn. Whole. Clean. 

Naked and beautiful and radiant in the moonlight.

Flailing, for a minute. Thrashing, moving limbs that felt so unused to the action and clutching at Lucifer as he sobbed. Didn’t apologize, didn’t plead, they were past that and it was pathetic. But he could always cry. Because seeing and hearing in full force was always a lot after so long, as was skin that didn’t ache and throb and muscles that didn’t burn and whole, whole, whole again.

He clung to Lucifer like he was so much smaller, so much frailer than he really was. And Lucifer held him and it felt gentle and sweet and he missed it. So, so much. Didn’t want to complain or yell or blame him for the past ten years because they were over and done and it was a new life. “Thank you,” He whispered instead, because even though Lucifer had done all this he’d brought Sam back from it. Restored body and mind and soul. He thanked Lucifer because cursing him was fruitless and they were cursed here together anyway.

Lucifer nodded indulgingly, planted a small kiss atop Sam’s head and pulled up, helping the boy to his feet and still holding him so very close, “You’re welcome, baby. Dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly kinda feel like I should apologize. God, poor Sam. Anyways, as always, uh- let us know what you think!


	4. Song of the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Lucifer take a lovely stroll in a freshly conjured aquarium. Also: fun marine biology facts!
> 
> Chapter-specific tags: sexual violence, drowning, monsters, tentacles, lore, oviposition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight TW for forced pregnancy, but that comes more into play in the next chapter which will be a continuation. Hope you enjoy!

It was, quite frankly, beautiful. For once a finished construct that didn’t white out or fade at the edges. Finished, furnished, a fully functional building three stories high and Sam was in love.

Because while outside it was entirely unremarkable (why bother with decoration, it’s what’s on the inside that counts) on the inside it really was something else. That was where the beauty was.

In the tanks that stretched floor to ceiling, the touch pools, the everything. Soft blue light that made it feel as if one was underwater themselves, soft grey carpet patterned with barely visible waves and sand dollars and starfish and in a way it was like every aquarium Sam had ever seen and like none he had been to at all, ever.

Because it had everything. From God’s early experiments with long, fanged creatures of the deep to regular old clownfish, all existing in a harmony unparalleled, something that would have, could have been if it weren’t for humans. But it seemed that Lucifer wasn’t going to be bitter about that this time around.

“Look here,” Lucifer instructed, slowly walking over to sit on a bench in front of a tank with large, round, flat fish that shone like polished silver swimming in between sunken tree roots. “Beautiful, aren’t they? If you stuck your hand in there they’d bite it right off.” He informed, and morbid as the fact was it was still interesting. “They uh- stuck around, I guess, though...not quite at this size, this strength. Branched off into piranhas and pacu, silver dollars.” And they sat, and watched for a while as they flitted to and fro, always the same direction, reacting to the same stimuli. But Lucifer had already gone over schooling behavior a few tanks ago and Sam didn’t need a refresher course.

“Wanna keep going here, or do we think we’re ready to move onto saltwater?”

They’d been going in this particular section (fresh and brackish) for what could have been a month but time had no meaning and Sam hadn’t once gotten tired or hungry, so it may as well have been an afternoon.

Sam blinked, relishing the soft fluid quality of both their surroundings and Lucifer’s voice, waves of an ancient sort of serenity cascading within him with each heave of his chest. And when his eyes slipped open, they reflected a velvety blue light that made Lucifer’s heart fucking flutter. 

“Saltwater,” Sam murmured, but what he really wanted to say is  _ take me in your lap and kiss me breathless, love you, thank you, love you so much I’m gonna burst with it.  _

For whatever it was worth, Lucifer could hear him anyway, and Sam flushed with something thrilled and full to the brim with warmth, heat rising to his cheeks as he wetted his lower lip and pushed himself to his feet. 

Lucifer stood after him, stayed close. Personal space, when they were like this, was an impossibility, and neither of them would have it any other way. Lucifer gently carded his fingers through Sam’s hair as they passed by familiar tanks (inspiration for the world serpent, the Loch Ness monster, red tailed catfish) and into more unfamiliar territory. Tanks so much bigger, ceiling open to take true advantage of the three stories because things in the sea tended to take so much more room for their territories.

Sharks came first. Along the reef, in the open ocean scavenging, breaching the water in a graceful arc, a feeding frenzy, everything. 

They sat crosslegged and watched a hammerhead swim along the bottom for a long while searching for prey for hours. Took pleasure in the simple, graceful, fluid movements (and shared a kiss once or twice).

“You might think they have crappy vision because of the head.” Lucifer hummed. “It’s the opposite, really. Helps with depth perception, which is good for something that likes octopus and squid. Fast little things,” He hummed, before pausing. “Speaking of cephalopods, let’s go see if we can find an octopus. Watch it figure something out, if you want? So clever.” The archangel murmured.

It was times like these when Sam remembered, realized just how enamored Lucifer was with creation. With plants and animals, with everything pre-humanity. How it worked, how it fit together, webs and puzzles and interconnectivity. And Lucifer was grinning, pushing himself to his feet in an instant and offering Sam his hand.

Sam took his hand as if asked for a dance, swayed gently into welcoming arms and peeked behind the shoulder he’d buried half of his face in at the marvels still waltzing in the background.

“I keep imagining you going on exploratory dives back in the day,” Sam whispered, kissing the crook of his neck, “It’s silly. You probably didn’t need to be in it to see it.” 

Lucifer chuckled. “Sure, I didn’t need to. But I did anyways. It was nice.” He hummed, keeping one arm around Sam’s waist as he led the way. “Now this,” He spoke as they neared a tank with a rocky sort of cave system and high, looming kelp plants, “Is just your average giant Pacific octopus. Say ‘hi’,” He hummed, watching as the thing ever so slowly pulled itself out of a crevice. It moved like it was floating, everything so alien and graceful and focused. Like a ballet. “There’s a few mussels under that rock. She knows they’re there, but,”

Said sheet of rock was under several others, making it impossible for something even of the octopus’ strength to lift it up,and it was low enough she couldn’t squeeze through. There was hardly any investigation before she started clearing away the rubble.

“Humans have a habit of only describing similar things as intelligent. Monkeys, sure, corvids, sure, but when it comes to invertebrates and fish it really has to slap them in the face like this.” Lucifer mused.

Sam watched, transfixed, “Is it true that if octopi mothers could survive past nursing their eggs, long enough to transfer their own experiences to their young, teach them, hone their skills, continuous generational development, we would have seen levels of intelligence on them akin to or much higher than our- humans’, I mean?” His brow furrowed, pressing his lips just a little. Empathy. “Sucks when your own survival as a species stands in the way of your own evolution.”

“Certainly. Definitely higher, buddy, it’s no question.” Lucifer chuckled, gaze darkening for a fleeting moment. “Dad wasn’t a fan of their...precursor. Wanna see something  _ really  _ cool?” He asked, guiding Sam away from the tank and tilting his head to the side.

Sam nodded wordlessly, eyes still alight with wonder. Allowed himself to be moved and guided and maneuvered towards whatever destination Lucifer steered them. 

And it was by far the biggest tank yet. Water dark and murky until, after a minute, the room was lit as if by a spotlight from one enormous yellow eye practically glowing with power. 

“And this, Sammy,” Lucifer hummed. “Is what you can call a kraken. Beautiful, isn’t she?” He practically cooed, stepping forward and pressing a hand against the glass. It was met in turn by the very tip of a gargantuan tentacle. “She’ll actually understand if you say hello. Don’t be shy.”

Sam left his side as if hypnotized and pressed himself flat against the glass, eyes darting up and hands reflexively splaying onto the cold surface, a small unsure smile itching itself onto his lips as they parted for another whisper, almost polite, like he couldn’t bear to disturb the peace, “Uh. Hello?”

Lucifer chuckled as he watched, shifting to lean against the glass and cross his arms over his chest.

And then Sam felt something odd. The large, lonely eye blinked once, twice, sluggish in the cold water as he felt something at the fringes of his mind slowly creeping in.

_ Hello _ . It seemed so entirely foreign, so old, voice in his head mulling over the syllables. Just as with Lucifer, a tentacle pressed almost tenderly against the glass in front of Sam.

Sam staggered half a step back, head snapping to Lucifer and wild eyes trying to refocus their puzzlement, their fascination, on the human figure that was familiar and real, “You gotta be kidding me. That- uh, existed in nature? You didn’t just make this up?”

“Existed, was locked away. Yes.” Lucifer smiled widely. He hadn’t seen Sam quite this thrilled in a long time and it was so fucking endearing. “Like what you see?”

_ You...are his? Kin, get, his grace?  _ Curious, now, probing just a little deeper into Sam’s mind.

Sam’s hands jerked up to his head. His brainstem invaded, infiltrated. It wasn’t painful or even uncomfortable, just so entirely alien and he wanted to fight it on instinct. He swallowed, one arm descending to reach for Lucifer, clutch a fist at the sleeve of his shirt, “How does the telepathy work? It existed before languages, right?” 

Curious, too, enthralled, a little scared. 

Lucifer nodded, walking closer to offer Sam something to hold, something to clutch at. “Sure did. It was ideas before words, thoughts before sound and light and music. She does have her own song, though. Like whales. Too...far below your range, but-“ He pressed two fingers to Sam’s temple.

And suddenly it was there. From behind the glass, vibrating through everything, slow and somber and unlike anything Sam had heard before, but undoubtedly beautiful. Constant.

_ You think. I can feel it. Awareness. Hello.  _

Sam thought at her almost fondly. It wasn’t often that the illusion of life here, Lucifer’s creations, had actual consciousness to them. The concept alone brought tears to Sam’s eyes. He tried to blink them away, inching closer again. 

_ So close. Not...here. Not me. _ She blinked again, pupil slowly tracking its way to look down at Lucifer for a brief second.  _ Am not here just as much as I am not in the ocean.  _

A long pause. Big things tended to take longer to get to where they wanted to go, no matter how sharp their wit may be. And she was well beyond big.  _ You are so very small. Human. What a funny creature you are, Samuel. _

But Sam could feel the ocean in his head, dark and deep and peaceful, crowded, brutal, a jungle. His heart hammered in his chest with something primal that was both fear and the kind of curiosity that killed cats. 

A thing, a being, a creation, that questioned its own existence was the closest Sam had ever gotten to see of real and aware and true in Hell. It made him tremble, stole his breath away. 

“Where are you?” He asked, slowly, his skin tingling, prickling, pins and needles and goosebumps. 

Something so terrible and mournful and screaming tore through Sam.  _ Alone, alone and away. My children are gone and I cannot swim. I miss them. Close? I feel...I do not know if I am real here. I exist. Outside. But this is not my Cage. _

Lucifer hummed, hand suddenly on Sam’s shoulder, gripping tight. “That’s enough chat, don’t you think?” And his tone was flat. None of the mirth or the humor or the patient teaching it was before.

“Lucifer, just two more minutes- please,” Sam pleaded, his gaze wide and fixed on her and his chest just tight enough to feel his heart violently thud, “Is she real?” He asked, grief slipping into his tone unhampered. Nothing deserved to be here, no one deserved to be here. Not a single entity with thought and feelings deserved to be created, engineered, awoken in here. 

“Sure, sure, she’s real. She’s out there. And it’s easy to reach out, pull a piece of her mind in with us and manipulate it and easy to let it back out again. Sam, this is simpler than communicating with Azazel if and when he prayed. It’s child’s play. She’s fine. And you’ll get more than two minutes, I promise.” Lucifer patted Sam’s side. “But there’s a reason I made this for you, and, well,” He sat down in a readily summoned chair, lounging back and grinning. “I never said I was patient.”

Sam stared back at him, anxiety like a cold freezing shower drenching him in cold sweat. His limbs heavier, always heavier as if they knew they had nowhere to go. “You’re going to hurt me.” He croaked, factual. Knew the look, knew the tone, “I thought…”

Thought this life was a gift. Last one certainly wasn’t. He looked back at the creature, blinked again, lungs all too aware of what might come, tightening in panic in advance, “Don’t sully this. Beautiful, beautiful, please. Don’t make it ugly.”

“Oh, no, Sam, you misunderstand.” Lucifer pursed his lips for a second. “I’m not going to harm a single hair, on that pretty little head of yours. This is a gift.” He paused, adding. “For me. Think of it like you’re giving me a boudoir shoot, hm? Now have fun. Bye-bye.” He snapped his fingers, and Sam wasn’t standing on the ground in front of him anymore. Was left floating in silence, in frigid water where he could barely see an inch in front of him, hair suspended around his head like a halo. The tip of a tentacle prodded at his back.

Sam wasn’t a stranger to drowning, or to the kind of chill that seeped into his bones and freezed him from the inside out, or to his own respiration clinging to dear life as waves and waves of water filled him up and burnt his lungs tight and oxygen-deprived and frantic, inhaling more only to asphyxiate more. 

But this kind of primordial terror was new, and Sam’s limbs flopped in the heavy water, kicked and punched through the walls of near-freezing fluid as he tried to swim away in directions he couldn’t exactly see. The pressure was excruciating, pushing against his ears and crushing him in and he screamed and heard nothing of it.

Lucifer wouldn’t hurt him; he would just watch. 

She seemed more interested in the tactile side of things. Surprisingly slim tentacle, no thicker than Sam’s thumb, running through his hair, one the size of his wrist drifting up to prod at his lips and,

_ You cannot breathe. Take it in, I will help. _

Sam would instinctively flinch away, but the instinct to survive, always subject to Lucifer’s whims and used against him anyway, was insistent and demanding, inviting no arguments. Sam stared through the darkness as his eyes adjusted just slightly and his inflamed chest screamed for anything to inflate it. He latched on the tentacle that was offered for him, wrapped his lips around its tip and sucked, sucked, sucked. Shuddered, air, oxygen, slipping in. He sucked harder to extinguish the fire in his lungs. 

How could water so cold burn so hot?

But there was air. Air. Air...

And he was held. Suddenly caressed, gently suspended in the water column and the thing probing in his mind was suddenly distressed with vague bits of thought peering through, wasn’t talking to Sam.

_ Don’t miss them like that- _

_ Not right- _

And then for a long while she was silent again, took another small eternity to reach her next thought. But it wasn’t her, not entirely, so whether or not the real kraken wanted this didn’t matter. All it meant was that Lucifer wouldn’t bother her consciousness for another couple hundred years until she forgot the grudge.

So thin, dexterous tentacles undid the buttons on Sam’s flannel and rubbed down his chest, warming his skin as they went and the one in his mouth pushed further in, almost down his throat, and he could taste something sweet and heavy on his tongue that made him want to slump and relax.

The tentacle pushing down Sam’s throat was terrifying at first and he tried to retch, doubling over violently, slowly in the heavy water, until suddenly his muscles started to relax. It felt unnatural, chemical, and while Sam was no longer choking and the terror wasn’t making his heart clench tight in his chest, awareness of what was happening, what was going to continue happening (Lucifer never did half measures) was so concrete and overwhelming his head reeled with panic his body barely displayed. He wondered fleetingly if he was being injected with the kind of chemical that kept preys half paralyzed and docile in the wild, if that on its own was mercy or another reason to thrash harder before he is eaten alive. 

_ Scared, don’t, don’t, please don’t… _

To her. And then, 

_ Lucifer please- _

And sure, Lucifer heard. He saw. Could see through the murky water, through the glass, into Sam’s suddenly slow, even breaths and his sluggishly beating heart that didn’t reflect the frantic ness in his mind. And this wasn’t even the best part yet. So he said something encouraging Sam had no chance of hearing and arched back a little further for a better view as the man was fully stripped.

Not to be eaten, though. But that was a tossup between a good thing and a bad thing.

He was held, pulled a little closer to her main body, still so fucking gentle, still so soft. Caressing, touching, mapping out every inch of his body until the tip of one thick tentacle wrapped around the base of his cock.

Sam blinked the salty water in and out of his eyes. It hurt to gaze so wildly when he could barely see, when it still stung. But seeing was the only control he had left and panic seemed to nestle deep down his throat with another weight oppressive and invasive and air and life itself, slimy and thick and  _ sentient,  _ twitching past his stretched lips. 

His nose flared, staring down at his cock as the fluidity moved him, seeped into him. 

_ Are you- are you going to hurt me? _

He asked her, wide eyes snapping up to meet her massive unnerving stare. Sam was used to being ripped apart, Sam was used to the skin flayed off his flesh. Sam was used to his cock ground into nothing when he’d expect kindness and Lucifer is about to make him cum. Sam always, always expected the worst. 

But this was new. Not Lucifer. Not something entirely made by Lucifer. And a pathetic desperate part of him wanted to reason with the buzzing consciousness he could feel on the outlines of his own.

_ Please, you don’t have a reason to- do you? I don’t- I don’t know what to expect, please... _

There was a low creaking groan, barely audible to Sam. Like something shifting, straining under pressure. 

_ I am… _ there was that probing again, searching for the right words in Sam’s mind.  _ Sorry. But there is no reason to stop, either, when he has started me going. _

She wasn’t human. One track mind, start something and you have to finish it when you’re that big and already prepared and it takes so much energy. An unstoppable force and Sam was hardly an immovable object.

The tentacle stroked slowly, still slow, but twisting and pulling perfectly, just the way Sam liked, technique no doubt lifted from his memories. 

_ You are a precious thing. Will… enjoy, I think.  _

Stroked faster, and a comparatively minuscule tendril poked at Sam’s slit, prodded at it, sank a quarter of an inch inside.

Sam’s back arched, his entire frame weightless and swaying gently in the water. He didn’t try to protect himself, didn’t claw at the thing around his cock or the thing down his throat, futile as that would have been anyway. Lucifer had trained that out of him. The only resistance that was allowed was that that was involuntary, instinctive, and sometimes even that…

Pain and pleasure and stimulation and horror all intertwined together and Sam made a stifled keening noise that barely resonated at all. The knowledge that this creature could squeeze him into nothing, could wrap a fraction of itself around him and drain him of all he is, was stunning him. Not that it should, because, well, Lucifer could too. But the latter barely ever looked the part. Never so massive or alien without the added sedative of grace and light and beautiful to numb his brain into a suicidality that felt like the only love he could give back. 

Sam tried to swallow compulsively, earnestly, on whatever liquid that was pouring down his throat. Taking the offered relief for what it is because this was going to happen, and he didn’t want the pain, he didn’t want the screeching fear. 

And all the ways it was pleasurable and she was gentle were ever so slowly ebbing away. Because the tentacle lodged down Sam’s throat was starting to thrust in and out and the one in his cock pressed in far enough to stimulate his prostate directly, which it did with gusto.

And the noise, the water in his ears crushing his head and the thing like whale song still continuing, still slow and sad and somber and beautiful as Sam was dragged forwards and the inevitable happened; something prodding at his hole and questing entrance.

His insides fought, his skin crawled and his muscles tensed, clenched. The invasion was so foreign, so utterly odd and unsettling, Sam couldn’t force himself to relax. Hundreds of tiny suction cups probing him, clinging to his inner walls, tasting, feeling, seeing, sensing. Sam thrashed in a fit of uncontrolled pain, legs pushing backwards and kicking in the water to force himself away. He couldn’t stop shuddering, waves of intense blinding pleasure that was excruciating in its over stimulation raking through him. And he was choking again, his gag reflex tickled mercilessly as his abdominal muscles contracted, twisted him tight. 

_ No please I’ll be good I’ll be good please, please, too much, too much can’t- _

The tentacle down Sam’s throat pushed a little bit further in and let out another flood of that sweet liquid, an urge to calm, to relax, lay back, enjoy the pleasure and nothing else because even though the violation was forced (or at least prompted) on both parts it didn’t have to be all that bad. She liked Sam.

Each individual sucker caught on Sam’s rim before it pushed in, an extra layer of stimulation that was nearly enough to send him over the edge but he wasn’t there quite yet. She was milking his cock, thin tentacle inside slipping out and replaced by some sort of sucker fastening itself around the tip.

The climax seemed to come out of everywhere and nowhere at once. That was a ball of woven nerves, all stimulated, all sending distress signals, pleasure, pain,  _ survive, obey, take it.  _ All too much and it hit him so hard he was convulsing violently, his tremors frantic like a fish out of the sea, as ironically as that was. 

And it was incredibly good and overwhelmingly awful and he was hyperventilating, chest burning as he sucked more desperately on air and whatever sedative the creature gave him. 

Blinded for a few seconds, Sam still thrashed. His vision darkness and dancing stars and his skin rising in goosebumps and tears slipping out of his eyes except you could barely tell.

The problem was that she kept going. Because whatever the sedative was it seemed to keep Sam achingly hard as well, always ready, each orgasm coming faster than the last and still overwhelming and he had to have been blacking out for parts of it because when he next opened his eyes there were tentacles coiled around his wrists and ankles, and a second one in his ass that seemed keen on going as far in as it could while the other focused on his prostate. If he’d been able to see through the water he’d be able to see its outline pulsing in his lower stomach, and he was being filled. Was she cumming? There was something left behind as it pulled in and out, fucking into him, but it didn’t feel quite right, too thick, too gelatinous, not quite fluid so much as a fluid mass.

And there was one back in his urethra as well, thicker than the first, toying and coiling and playing with seeing how deep it could travel inside.

Any measure of coherency was downright impossible. Sam’s thoughts were a jumble, lagged behind slow and lazy and scattered. All he could feel, all that he was, was that he was being fucked, that every hole was filled, that something wet and sticky crawled inside him and sucked on him. That it felt good, good, terrible, felt too much and he couldn’t breathe. 

Being in the water, with this prehistoric creature, with tentacles infiltrating him so deeply, slipped his mind quickly. And the only thought that remained was cage, torture, make it stop and…

_ Luciferluciferlucifer no more no more- _

It was hours. Days? So long, so long before it showed any sign of slowing, of stopping. Before his hole was vacated and something oozed out after the absence (because his stomach was swollen enough for it to affect his breathing and the only thing really keeping him afloat in that respect was the tentacle in his gullet), before his cock was released and it arched like it was going to fucking explode but it was soft again and there wasn’t anything inside, wrists and ankles released, everything so suddenly gone save for the one in his throat. 

He was bruised. From being held too tight, from a touch that was meant to be soft but at times it was hard to judge with something his size, from everything and not a single part of his body didn’t ache, didn't throb, didn’t scream for mercy.

Something caressed gently at his cheek, toyed at his hair, before the last tentacle was pulled from his throat and he was left to float in the water for a few long seconds.

And then he was out. Hands and knees on the carpeted floor, overfilled belly sagging below him, and Lucifer was grinning. They weren’t done.

“Hey, buddy. Have fun with your new friend?” He hummed, standing from where he was lounged and crouching to Sam’s level.

Sam couldn’t keep himself up, body sagging and sinking into the floor. He couldn’t stretch his limbs enough and lying on his belly was horrendous so his upper body just slumped down, face pressed to the floor and lips cold and blue, teeth grinding. His back arched down, ass up, knees wobbling to support his weight but unable to move to accommodate it. 

The light assaulted his eyes, ears still blocked with waters so sounds came from a distance, dulled, faraway. He squeezed his eyes shut and coughed violently, sputtering water and then harder, guts clenching, more water, bile, whatever the thing flooded him with. He still forced the words out between retching and coughing and wheezing, shivering all over. 

“Tha-hh ‘nk you, than-thank you, hhn- please, yes, please-”

Lucifer clicked his tongue. “Sam, Sam, you have no idea how little that means to me. What’s the thanks for, man?” He hummed, swiping his thumb through the bile and slime dripping down Sam’s chin. “You’re lucky you didn’t spill any of the precious cargo.” He shifted, still crouching. “You know why Dad locked these girls up?” He queried, and of course Sam didn’t, so he explained.

“Universal compatibility. You would not believe how pissed He got when one of them got their greedy suckers on a seraph. So… you know those grow-your-own-butterfly kits? They give you a chrysalis, you watch the thing grow wings and claw its way out and make its way into the world…” He started, patting the side of Sam’s stomach. 

“We’re gonna do a little experiment of our own, okay?”

Sam stared up deliriously, straining to focus, his brow creasing and his lower lip trembling, “-don understand,” he groaned, quivering fingers pulling up, to reach, to touch, but he could barely lift his arm, “Sorry, am sorry-”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed red for a moment. “Let me put it a little plainer for you, Sam.” He said, tone somewhat irritated and somewhat irritated generally meant a world of pain. He reached back, shoved two fingers into Sam’s gaped hole, something in all likelihood he probably would have barely noticed at this point, and pulled them out holding something.  _ Somethings _ .

Eggs. Small, gelatinous, like a frog’s. There would have been hundreds, thousands, “In this metaphor, Sammy, you’re the chrysalis. Got it, now? So we’re going to stay like this, and we’re going to have some fun for the next...what, two months? And then your adorable little babies are going to climb out of here,” He thumbed at Sam’s rim, before walking his fingers up to his mouth, “And here, and, well, everywhere, because they have beaks and they’re born hungry.”

The utter horror and revulsion in Sam’s eyes were astronomical. He heaved an inch forward, twisting again, throwing his guts out again. Violently retching and then dry heaving, scratching his throat raw. 

“Nnnno,” he sniveled, shoulders shaking, trying to reach back with his hand to his ass to do something, anything. Felt like a parasite inside him, itching, itching, “Please-”

“Oh, but Sam, it’s a gift. The miracle of life.” Lucifer crooned. “And I’ll already be giving you bed rest, like the good doula I am, and we’ll watch together and maybe I’ll help you live long enough this time around to see them all make their way into the world, wouldn’t you like that? Stop whining and thank me.”

Sometimes Sam’s nervous system would react so outrageously against his better judgment. Sometimes Sam couldn’t control it. Such was the time. 

Because entirely like a demented man he was banging his forhead against the floor and wailing, screaming his heart out. Something shrill and horrifying and hysterical. And his hands were clawing at Lucifer’s ankles now, all nails and shivers and too weak to grasp, but grabbing, scratching, like a drowned man dragging his savior down with him. 

Lucifer seemed entirely unimpressed. Unphased. “Mm, is that all?” He drawled, shaking his head. “Sh, that’s right. Big changes. I get it.” And then he was holding a plug in hand, so fucking thick (it had to be if he actually wanted it to hold anything in) and flared at the base. And he pushed it into Sam without any warning, shifting it just so and giving Sam’s crouched form an appraising look.

“We’re going to walk out. I’m going to support you, but you’re putting in the effort. And there’s a house, penthouse apartment, across the street, and we’ll get all set up and if you beg pretty enough I might hurt you enough that you forget for a moment what’s going to happen. Up on three.”

He braced his hands under the crooks of Sam’s arms, tilting his head to the side as he waited for an answer.

Sam managed to nod hectically, forcing his upper body up with one quick motion that knocked the air out of him, made his head swim. He blinked and kicked his feet, soles trying to find purchase on the floor as everything ached and weighed so fucking heavy. The plug hurt, but the pain was incomparable to everything else he could almost dismiss it if it weren’t for what it stood for.

He still felt overwhelmingly nauseous, swallowed compulsively to keep it all down. And then he was up, and he was burying his face in Lucifer’s shoulder because the worst part of this sort of thing was how utterly revolting he felt. And that terrified him because losing Lucifer’s affection was the most terrifying outcome that could ever happen.

His knees buckled and he clinged to Lucifer desperately, crying, forlorn, heartbroken.

“I’m disgusting- sorry, sor-hh sorry, I’m sorry. I love you. Sorry, don’t deserve you- so dirty, repulsive, please-”

“Now when did I ever say that?” Lucifer asked, slowly guiding Sam out of the room. “Sam, this? You right now? Your pain, your anguish, the disgust, your thoughts so jumbled...it’s beautiful. It’s why I do this. You suffer so...gloriously.” He patted Sam’s side. “I love you too. Now hustle, let’s get out of this place.”


	5. Domestic Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam is a happy housewife.
> 
> Chapter-specific tags: mpreg (sort of), birth, gore, horror, 1950's household vibes, emotional cruelty.

In one of his thousands of thousands of past lives, Sam used to be a hunter. He had a brother, and they went hunting monsters, and saving people. Good things to do, Sam assumed, good righteous things. He didn’t always remember his past lives in vivid detail, but this particular one kept coming to him in dreams (when he slept) or in flashbacks, sometimes, for some reason, like now. 

The timer on the oven rang and Sam waddled to the counter, put on his kitchen gloves and slowly, carefully, crouched in front of the stove and stared at the baking tray waiting inside. 

Pie. Lucifer wanted pie today. 

He pulled the thing out, still slow and careful because crouching was getting a little too hard to do without accidents, straightened his aching back and laid it on the kitchen table. 

Looked good, smelt even better. 

Shame that Sam wasn’t allowed to eat. For his own good though and the good of his babies. But it was okay because he never got hungry anymore. Just the occasional cravings he knew not to indulge. 

Lucifer never seemed to enjoy eating either but he liked to play with his fork in a plate. Liked the dining table. Liked watching Sam cook. Liked a warm meal waiting when he’d come back home from work. 

What did Lucifer do to bring home the bacon? Sam wasn’t sure. He kept forgetting and it would be rude to keep asking. It was okay not to know things. Sam didn’t need to worry his pretty little head. Just have the table ready by 5 pm. Keep the house nice and clean. Doll up. Suck his cock by the door. 

Sam loved him so much. 

He rushed to their bedroom to freshen up, blinked as he stared at the mirror and his hand drifted down to smooth a palm over his full belly. Soon now. Lucifer said they were almost ready to pop. 

In all honesty, Sam was beyond excited. He couldn’t wait to see them and hold them and give them all names. All the thousands of them. Lucifer wasn’t their father and it hurt a little; a vague memory of their actual mother hurt a little more. But that was okay too because they were theirs and Lucifer couldn’t wait either and he loved Sam and he was so kind and he was going to love Sam’s babies just as much. 

Sam threaded his fingers in his hair, pinched his cheeks, licked his lips. 

Almost 5. What to wear now? Jeans had gotten a little too uncomfortable a while back. So he was usually in a very loose t-shirt and boxers. Sometimes a white flowy dress short enough to accentuate his thighs. Sometimes nothing at all. A t-shirt, today, Sam was a little cold. 

He heard keys jingling outside. His heart fluttered. 

As wide of steps as he could manage, Sam made his way to the front door by the time it was sliding open and Lucifer was stepping in. 

“I missed you,” Sam panted, helping him with his jacket, kissing his shoulders, breathing him in. One arm reaching back to hang the jacket on the coat hanger to free both hands as he buried his face in Lucifer’s chest, trying to bend his knees to kneel, “Missed you, please fuck my mouth.”

“Hey, baby. I know.” Lucifer chuckled softly, loosening his tie and guiding Sam a few steps back so he wouldn’t have to kneel on the hardwood and could take advantage of the carpet- the same half pastel, half forest green as the walls.

It was a cute little house, with carpet throughout (except for the basement, which was lovely knotted pine planks polished to a near shine; and the kitchen, with smooth, durable linoleum tiling and great sturdy appliances). And there was a master bedroom with a king on a boxy frame (no headboard or footer, with the sheets tucked in, looked so ‘modern’) and the guest had a bed as well and other things that needed cleaning but of course, no one ever slept over, no house parties as fun as they may have been. 

It had evolved through the years. At first a luxury apartment, but then as Sam moved along in the pregnancy, as Lucifer guided him, as right and proper attitudes evolved as well it made sense to simplify.

He gently let Sam down to kneel, humming. “Gonna be a little nicer today, doll, because either today or tomorrow, I think, is when you’re due. Don’t want your throat raw for that, alright?”

Sam beamed, hands already reaching up to unbutton and unzip, “Okay,” he murmured, cheeks flushed with excitement, so fucking happy. “I made pie just like you asked. I hope there’s time for you to try it. I think it’s good. I hope it’s good,” he mumbled, distracting himself for a second, before his eyes focused on the half hard cock he just freed, head sinking in to take it in his mouth. 

He licked and sucked eagerly, twirled his tongue as it hardened between his lips, started pushing at the back of his throat. He stared up at Lucifer, relaxing his airway and tilting his head back a little to take his entire length in. Wide enamored eyes fixed up throughout and this intense expression of dedication, resolution to serve and please. Sam loved him so much. 

Lucifer allowed himself a soft groan, Sam loved it when he got that positive reinforcement, and he smiled. “Relax, baby. If it’s anything like last time it’ll be perfect. I’m sure we have the time.” He rocked his hips back and forth leisurely, carding his fingers through Sam’s hair and playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. He’d grown it out. It was nice, Lucifer was going to have to have him keep it that way after.

“Love you,” He remarked absently, voice soft as he met Sam’s eyes.

That alone seemed to replenish Sam, his energy radiant and hyperfocused and his heart skipping a beat. He drove his head all the way down, nose buried in public hair and cock lodged all the way down his throat, he stilled himself for a few seconds until tears streamed down his cheeks. All fervor, he pulled back a few inches then down again, then again, then again. 

_ Yours, yours, yours, love you.  _

Lucifer always heard him. Heard his every thought. He never needed to say a word. 

Domesticity. It was an interaction, a greeting, a conversation with hardly a word spoken and Lucifer came relatively (comparatively, because he could go for hours and he really didn’t need to- but it meant a job well done by Sam) quickly because it wasn’t a sex act so much as a declaration of love. And he held Sam’s head down until he was done, until he was sure it was all swallowed, and then he pulled out with a soft hum. “Let’s see about that pie, then?”

Sam licked his lips, swallowed, grabbed on Lucifer’s arm to pull himself up with some effort, “I’ll have it ready in a minute. Dining table or bed?” He asked, already stepping away to the kitchen. 

“Mm, we should eat at the table.” Lucifer decided, toeing off his shoes and following after Sam to lean against the wall of the kitchen entryway. “It smells amazing. Think you’ve really outdone yourself this time.” His tone took on a somewhat absent quality as he picked a little at the barely chipped paint on the wall. 

Sam started slicing the pie, moving a piece to Lucifer’s plate with a small dessert fork. He placed it in front of a chair and sat on the one right next to it, “Thank you. There’s cream too, and leftover strawberries if you’d like some more.” He sounded like a child, so proud and so anxious to get praise.

Lucifer heaved a long sigh as he sat, delicately picking up the fork between two fingers and prodding at a perfectly flakey, buttery crust. There were passing moments when he looked so fucking somber. Because it was fun and Sam was being so sweet but he wasn’t sitting at a table and there wasn’t pie and it was nothing but floating in this empty cage with Sam held close and his brother was in some distant corner and it wasn’t fair. He cleared his throat. “This looks beautiful, sweetheart.” He dragged his finger through the filling and brought it to his lips, giving an approving hum. “Strawberries and cream sounds perfect right about now, I’d love that.”

Sam provided. The small bowl of chopped strawberries and syrup sticky on the edges, painted Sam’s fingers red. He placed it in front of Lucifer and stared at his own hands, as if, for a second, he considered licking them clean, before he stood up and walked to the sink to wash them off. A small smile still itched on his face. 

“You know this flashback I keep having when I bake?” Sam asked quietly, soaping his hands, “All day today. It’s so weird. Think my brother in a past life liked pie too. Why do I keep remembering just this one?” His brow creased and he stared at the water stream, blinking, “Think that one was my favorite.”

Lucifer’s face pinched, gaze darting to settle on Sam’s back as he hunched over the sink. His tone gradually losing mirth, “You remember it better because it was your first. I suppose it’s my favorite too.”

Sam frowned lightly, turning to look back at Lucifer. “Is something wrong?” He asked, voice soft and concerned as he walked his way back over, using the counter for support. “What can I do to make it better?” And he made to sink back down to his knees, face twitching into a grimace for a brief moment.

“You can get back in your chair, for starters,” Lucifer hummed flatly, stabbing his fork into a bite of pie and bringing it up to his lips, chewing slowly, “And you’re doing your best, Sammy. I need you to know that. I need you to know when to stop grovelling. Okay, sweetheart?” He took Sam’s hand in his own, sat him down, squeezed it encouragingly. 

And then he dipped the tip of his finger in the bowl of syrup, lifted it up, “How long since you had anything in you other than your babies and cum?”

Sam relaxed after a moment, leaning against Lucifer’s side and wetting his lips. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “It’s been a little more than two months, thinking about it. But I don’t- it’s alright. It’s for the babies, right? I’m not hungry.” He reached around, wrapped his arm around Lucifer’s waist and pressed in a little tighter.

“You’ve been such a trooper, baby,” He pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. “But we’re almost done, aren’t we? What do you say we save a piece of this for after,” he gestured towards the pie, “Just for you, hmm? Because you’re my favorite in aaall our past lives.” He intoned, just a little playfully, crooning, “Now stick your tongue out for a pre-game treat.”

“Alright,” Sam laughed; a soft sweet thing high in his chest. He grinned, parted his lips obediently as he looked up into Lucifer’s eyes. Up because no matter the role, no matter the life and if he knew his past ones or not he had the urge to make himself small, to adore, to kneel, to be bundled up in an embrace with his head to Lucifer’s chest. 

Lucifer swiped a fingerpad over the middle of Sam’s tongue and down to the tip, coating taste buds in sugary sweetness, “There you go.” he smiled softly, and then the second Sam drew his tongue in and savored it, Lucifer was kissing him, pressing against his lips and pushing his own tongue in. 

Bruising, quick, just a few seconds with fingers tangled in hair and barely any air between them. 

And then a hand smoothed its way down to the side of Sam’s belly, gentle, a little excited, “Are we ready to meet them?”

Sam groaned softly at the taste and the touch before he pulled back, eyes wide and doe-like and cheeks dusted with blush. “Yes,” He whispered, nodding. “Yes, Lucifer, more than anything, I am. Now?” 

“Aw, sweetheart. You’ll make the best daddy. Well,” He pushed his plate away, never had more than a couple of bites for how demanding he was about 3 meals a day, “Finish the dishes and I’ll prepare the bath. We’ll see if they’re ready. If so, then, yes, right about now.”

And the twinkle in his eyes was glorious, flashes of red and light and fondness, intrigue. 

“Of course!” Sam beamed, a little overly excited as he pushed back and ever so slowly, gingerly stood. “Thank you.” He added, working to clear Lucifer’s plate away, bring the fork and knife over to the sink and start working happily.

He hummed, letting the water run hot as he got absorbed in it, focused even on the small things, did them perfectly, took pride in that perfection. And when it was all done he smiled, almost nervously because it was going to happen today and he’d see his babies and Lucifer was right, he’d be such a wonderful daddy-

He cleared his throat and carefully dried his hands with the dish towel, dried the dishes too while he was at it and put them away. His heart was fluttering in his chest and the grin never left his face, cheeks dimpled and eyes crinkled on the corners.

And as he walked (waddled, one hand braced against the wall) down the hall he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and flushed just a little brighter, because how could he not? He was practically glowing with the thrill and the joy of it all, his swollen stomach and the t-shirt that really only covered him past his navel but it was soft and comfortable and the only thing he really needed.

He stepped into the bathroom and sighed, brows raised. The bathtub was large, would have had to have been, and about a quarter of the way full with water. He looked to Lucifer for guidance, before slowly lifting the shirt over his head and baring himself fully. He needed help to step over the porcelain lip and lower himself, legs spread and back against the sloped wall and hand gripping Lucifer’s softly the whole time, giving the occasional squeeze.

And then he felt it. Movement, more than usual (which was the occasional shift or wriggle). Things sliding over eachother inside him, stomach stuffed to the gills with his children. His babies.  _ His. _ A rush of pride whenever he thought about them, and he and Lucifer would take care of them together and it would be so fucking perfect.

His toes curled under the water and he let out a soft groan, brow creasing and  _ fuck, they were ready _ and he knew what he had to do insitinctively. Drew his feet back, knees bent and legs spread as far as the tub would allow and pushed. And then he whined, head falling back as pain suddenly zinged across his lower stomach, contracting, throbbing before it was gone. “Shoot-“ He didn’t swear much.

“Lucifer, oh, oh-“ Sam gasped sharply, breath coming faster as he felt his hole stretch, something behind it and- and tiny tentacles trying to pry through, stretching his rim before it plopped out wet and slimy into the water.

Sam’s eyes lit up and he shifted a little, forcing himself up as much as he could while still keeping his legs spread so he could look down into the water and he was smiling like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and it was. About the size of his fist, cuttlefish shaped with so many tentacles and one bright golden eye and Sam was laughing breathlessly before he fell back again and let out another groan of pain.

After the first they seemed more eager, and when two, three were swimming around his feet and he was finally getting used to their admittedly small size (as compared to other things he’d had come in or out of his ass) they started coming out in more force. Two squeezing themselves out alongside themselves, tentacles pulling and catching and sticking to Sam’s skin and as soon as they had one tendril out they were pulling and he was yelling, back arched and forehead damp with sweat. But still smiling. Still so fucking happy and if he could reach he would have gone down and held them and tried to reach out to talk but five minutes later he started coughing.

Brow creased, throat spasming as something made its way up and  _ no, I can’t vomit here _ but he really didn’t need to worry about that because it wasn’t bile that was too big and slimy and making him gag as it pulled its way into his throat. But he opened his mouth obediently, didn’t want to hurt it as it tugged on his lips and made an exit and he reached after it, coughing up spit as it fell into the water.

And even after that he was taking it so well, managed to relax his throat, made it easier on them, even let his eyes slip shut a few times and  _ I’m a daddy, it’s beautiful, a gift _ and he was beaming drowsily at Lucifer, tears beading in eyes full of love and adoration.

Lucifer squeezed his hand throughout, every now and then reaching over to dap a damp towel at Sam’s forehead, mostly silent, mostly watching, but, every now and then, a breathless proud cheer and…

“Doing such a good job, baby.”

“Look how healthy they are. Beautiful.”

“Aww, isn’t this one adorable? Look how it curls its little tentacle around your big toe.”

“Relax for me,” a fond chuckle, then, “Looks like they’re getting a little too eager.”

Sam suddenly gasped, eyes snapping open and face morphing into something distressed because there was pain again, but not quite the same. Not a cramp, not something wriggling it’s way out, something sharp and focused. “Lucifer? Lucifer, what’s-“ He groaned, feet slipping as he squirmed and let out a small whimper.

Lucifer squeezed his hand tighter, lower lip twitching with a shadow of amusement, “Uh, this one is a rebel right there, wouldn’t take a paved road. Okay, Sammy, it’s okay. Keep your eyes on me.”

He propped himself up for a better viewing angle, his other hand wiping sweat and wetness off Sam’s face again, “Now if anything, those ones should be your favorites. Such brave little warriors. Aren’t you just so fucking proud?”

Sam nodded, tears beading in his eyes. “Yes, yes, Lucifer, I am. So fucking proud, they’re beautiful-“ He blinked rapidly, staring down at his stomach as something pushed away from the greater mass there, made a noticeable outline. And then he screamed. Because it was  _ biting _ , burrowing, terrible, white hot pain. Could feel it chewing, pushing again. Sam gripped tighter at Lucifer’s hand, dug his nails in. “Lucifer, Lucifer, oh my- hurts, hurts, mer-“ His breath hitched.

“Shh, shh, shh. That’s motherhood right there. Sacrifice, right? It’s incredible. You should be so happy. Endure for me, come on, Sammy. You want them good and strong and healthy, don’t you?” Lucifer crooned and sank a hand into the water, pulled it out with a tiny slimy thing wrapping itself around his fingers. He held it up to Sam’s eyes, “So precious. You made them, darling. All yours. Let them claw their way out. Let them feed.”

And Lucifer’s eyes gleamed with something near-manic in its fascination. Impatient, like he couldn’t get enough.

“Mine, mine, yes. My babies, ours, gonna be-“ He choked, head falling back as he let his mouth hang open again, forced himself to relax and reached a shaking hand up to give the child something to crawl onto when it got out. He was still whimpering, wailing when he could. After what felt like an eternity a bloody hole opened up to the right of his navel and the thing pulled itself out, covered in blood and gore and when it fell into the water red bloomed all throughout. “Guh- Huh, L- wanna see, help m’up-“

Lucifer gave him a warm approving smile but did nothing, watched as another made its way up Sam’s throat, seemed to get a little stuck there. Anxious to get out, it started clawing and pushing, tiny suction cups sticking to inner walls of flesh and shredding them to forge a path out.

The newborns were growing instantly more impatient, ripping holes instead of travelling the well travelled roads, just breaking what stood in the way and clawing their way out. 

And the ones already out swam in confused lazy groups, would wrap themselves around Sam’s feet and ankles, hips, thighs, wherever there was meat or skin that wasn’t yet torn, and they would latch there and suck, feed, absorb whatever energy and warmth their mother could provide because that was never a species that could form much of an attachment, at least not when they were so hungry. 

Sam jerked and let out a rasping whine until he couldn’t make much noise at all anymore because there was a gaping hole from the base up the length of his throat, but he was still alive, still breathing, so proud. Even though it hurt. They were in the water with him and they were his beautiful children, he never forgot that. He smiled weakly up at Lucifer even as he let out silent shrieks and it became that there weren’t just several burrowed tunnels but one great gaping hole in his lower stomach, intestines spilled out and blood soaking the water, bright red.

He slowly sat up and stared down at it all,  _ they did so well, so proud _ and he cupped his hands in the water and slowly lifted one out. 

Lucifer gave Sam’s shoulder one last squeeze and then pulled away, eyes scanning the bathtub as it basically filled with the tiny little bastards, swimming in a sea of red as more and more of them crawled out, and more of them stuck themselves to bare skin to feed. All in a frenzy, too many, only more to come. 

More of the same though. Lucifer sighed heavily. 

“Guess that’s that. Alright.”

And then he snapped. And they were gone.

And Sam was whole again. Mutilated body mended, insides empty, except...

Nothing swam in the water, nothing burrowed out of flesh, nothing fed or prodded or explored. Nothing in Sam’s hands. 

Sam jerked, scrambling back and staring wildly at the absence as something clenched in his chest. “Where- where, Lucifer- where are my?” He whimpered, dragging fingers through clean water, before his hands got frantic, splashing, “The babies, where did you, where are the, Lucifer-“ He was near breathless, chest starting to heave violently.

Lucifer stared at him blankly for a few seconds, and then he shrugged, “We’re done with that. Got boring a little too quickly. Did a good job though, I still owe you pie.”

_ "Where are my babies?" _ Sam shrieked, hands shaking, everything shaking, “I want, we were going to, we- Lucifer, please, please, bring them back, bring them back, I want them back-” He blinked rapidly, choked sobs and wild eyes in absolute fucking denial, “Please- please, you said- was gonna be a good daddy, Lucifer, you said-” 

Lucifer smiled with something that looked too much like sympathy, except it really wasn’t. Never dulled the glint of amusement in his eyes. He ruffled Sam’s hair indulgently, “But you were a good daddy, Sammy. You fed them off your own flesh. That’s a mug with ‘best father ever’ right there for you. What more do you want? Cuddles? First day at school? Walk them down the aisle? Don’t be an idiot.”

Sam’s lower lip quivered, head shaking left and right, “No. No, no, Lucifer, please. I need-“ He clutched at his chest, grappled with the edge of the tub as if the water was pulling him down to drown him, “Don’t do this- don’t do this to me. Hurts too much. Heart hurts too much-” He pushed himself out of the tub and fell on the other side with a thud he didn't even seem to register. Wet and cold and delirious with grief. Instantly, he scrambled into hands and knees and then up to grab at Lucifer’s arms.

“Are they- were- are they real? Like her, are they- Lucifer,  _please,"_ He wailed, fists curled into Lucifer’s shirt and tugging pleadingly, “Were they real?”

“Real is always relative, baby.” Lucifer pursed his lips, not exactly willing to entertain the question. He rose to his feet, forcing Sam up with him. Grabbed a towel from a nearby hanger and wrapped it around his shuddering tremoring body, “Please what, Sam?”

Sam just buried himself between Lucifer’s arms and keened against his chest because he’d asked, he’d asked and it shattered his heart into a thousand pieces because two months of love and devotion and everything sacrificed for something so beautiful were just... gone.

“Now, now, let’s cut it with the melodrama, buddy, come on,” Lucifer patted his head half-heartedly, “You can have all the pie you want. And then I can fuck your ass until you black out. Wouldn’t that be nice? And when you are up, we’ll be climbing a mountain or surviving a nuclear apocalypse or going to town on your little toes with a hammer and we'll look back at today and laugh. Can’t have the kids tie us down now, huh?”

Sam sniffled and nodded. An autopilot response, because in all his clawing screeching misery he knew he didn’t want to test Lucifer’s patience. Not when it never did anything to spare him.

So he dried off, got dressed in jeans and a flannel for the first time in months, and they finished the pie he baked and Lucifer fucked him for hours and Sam came as much as he wanted, needed, didn’t need permission and maybe it would be a little sweeter next time.

“Tell me you’ll always love me more than your own flesh and blood.” Lucifer whispered, teeth sinking into the crook of Sam’s neck as he fucked him right to the edge of oblivion. 

Sam moaned brokenly, clawing at the sheets. “Love you more than everything, always, more than my-“ He grunted, heart clenching again for a brief second. “More than my own flesh and blood. Am yours, yours, please.” 

Lucifer purred in his ear, “That’s my good little bitch.”


	6. Game Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humans are social animals; and misery does love company.
> 
> Chapter-specific tags: graphic violence, substance abuse, degradation.

In the intervals between lives and experiments and games, sometimes Lucifer would just lay down next to Sam and hold him and they would simply talk about everything. 

Sam would have more lucidity and awareness and memories than it is ever possible for one human brain to sort through. But he would remember every iteration, his past, every scenario they had played, every torture they had tried. And Sam would review it, in a way, talk about his feelings; what he hated, what he enjoyed, what terrified him out of his mind and what particular onset of pain made him want to claw his way out of his body and stop existing altogether. 

It was civil, and emotional. Cathartic in a way. 

And then sometimes Lucifer would give him a vague outline of what he would like to try next. Would keep an open mind to Sam’s suggestions- if they weren’t entirely born out of self-preservation. If they were interesting enough, Lucifer might even include them in the story to come. 

And in all fairness, when Lucifer’s proposals were a little heavy on the physical suffering side, Sam would always jump in and flesh out a recommendation where it would be more psychological. Because, well, Lucifer would still enjoy it. And Sam would choose anything over a decade of uninterrupted blinding agony. 

That is all to say that several parts of their current life were mostly Sam’s idea. As it was now, they had a fancy condo on a mountain top. Beautiful, mostly glass walls. You could watch the sun set and rise from the living room sofa, or from bed, and everything was lush and extravagant and smelt of an amount of fortune neither of them would know what to do with. 

Sam wasn’t fond of the absurd luxury or the way it was foil for more debauchery. Because while everything was expensive, clean, polished, Sam… Sam wasn’t. Sam knew where he’d fit in such a scenario, how the airbrushed elegance only served to highlight his debasement. 

Lucifer, in this life, though, wanted him bright and cognizant and present. None of this would sting if he wasn’t.

And so Sam was kneeling naked in front of a hard copy of Aristotle’s  _ De Anima _ in the original Greek, and there was a sizable dildo mounted on the marble flooring beneath him, the thicker end lodged inside him as he bounced on it slowly. His arms were bound behind his back, forearms parallel to each other, rope black and not particularly harsh on the skin. 

He was supposed to read, and fuck himself all through it. The book knew when he would finish a page with proper comprehension of the content, and would flip the page to the next only then. Which meant several times Sam’s eyes would run through the text to the last line and then watch in frustration as the book refused to let him move forward because apparently he wasn’t focused enough. So he would read it again, fuck himself some more, hope for the best. 

Homework. Mental exercise. Kept his gears turning, Lucifer would say. 

Lucifer had guests over. Three men, two women. Though they were neither man nor woman. Lucifer had likened his sentient creations before to artificial intelligence. They weren’t illusions. More soulless things with human likeness and some level of cognition, some level of free choice. He’d made one in Sam’s presence before, showed him the how; the why was obvious. They were neither particularly smart nor did they have a versatile range of feelings. 

Not emotions, feelings. Physical needs. They liked stimulation. Played chess or cards or poker like a computer program would. Fucked like an animal would. Laughed like a toddler would. 

Simple things. Predictable things. Real things. They breathed. They bled when Lucifer would eventually snuff them. And he always snuffed them. Never cleared them away with a snap of his fingers, never let them painlessly cease to be.

But for this life, they were ‘friends,’ and they came over for game nights, and they always liked to play with Sam, too. 

And so Sam read his book, fucked himself, routine stuff. And Lucifer played his cards. 

Sam’s toes curled against the marble floor. It felt slick, too warm, soles of his feet and everything else sheened in sweat. Because it had been hours. Hours of raising and lowering, bouncing his hips, staving himself off from orgasm as he struggled through the Greek. Which in itself, wasn’t too bad: Greek and Latin he could deal with, could translate fairly well; it was the Arabic and Sanskrit and Mandarin he had trouble with even though Lucifer had taught them to him.

His chest was heaving, face flushed, hands bunching and unbunching into fists. His thighs were burning and his cock ached and it had been to the bottom of this page and back four times without it turning. And ever so often he felt their eyes on him, felt them watching and he flushed a shade darker and whined.

Moaned every once in a while, noise strangled and muffled and conflicted because he didn’t want to interrupt the game but he needed a way to express his pleasure.

“When is it break-time for the boy, Lucifer? It can’t be all work and no play, come on.” One of the women complained, stared at her cards blankly and then thumbed at the table. 

That seemed to almost notify the rest of the same point, all suddenly attentive. Lucifer actually enjoyed the hive-mind sort of connection they had going on. Wasn’t his intentional making. But that was the fun part of creating things that could think. They sometimes surprised you. 

He glanced over at Sam and leaned back in his chair, “Book shouldn’t really take that long. Are we getting distracted again, darling?” 

Sam tilted his head to look at Lucifer, eyes wide and dazed. “Uhh- no, no, sorry. I’m sorry. S’hard. Almost done.” He promised, breath hitching. “Almost done, just... half an hour?” His brow creased and he shifted, clenching down tight around the dildo and gasped as it hit at his prostate, prompted a gush of precum to slide down his shaft. 

He shrank back, so acutely aware of their gazes, of the lust and wanting and he was so fucking embarrassed even though they weren’t real, he could always find it in him to shrink away and make himself small and blush no matter the circumstance.

The same woman who initially asked whined out loud, “A whole half hour?”

Lucifer shook his head, laughing. Shifted to angle himself toward Sam’s direction and leaned forward, pursing his lips, “Your friends are getting cranky, Sammy. I’ve been trying to entertain. But honest to Dad, buddy, you know those playdates are not for me.” He sighed dramatically, eyes flicking to the book and assessing the thickness of the pages left, “Let’s try to rush through this, hm? Fuck yourself faster. Read, mm, faster.”

Sam swallowed and nodded, eyes back on the page. Faster was painful, fire zinging through his shins and thighs enough so that it almost helped with the whole orgasm situation.

Half an hour ended up being shaved to just over sixteen minutes and Sam was so definitely sure that the book and/or Lucifer was going easy on him because he was so frantic by the end that he knew he didn’t have it all. And when the book thumped shut he nearly collapsed; he just barely kept himself moving up and down over the dildo because Lucifer hadn’t said he’d be able to stop just yet.

“He just keeps going and going, huh?” The man next to Lucifer mumbled, almost fascinated. They always had this fascination about Sam. Like an exotic alien species to them. In a way, he was. 

Lucifer gestured with two fingers, a come-hither motion, tilted his head a little and laid his cards face down on the table. The game had been all but forgotten anyway. 

Sam struggled to lift himself all the way up and collapsed on the floor, gasping and groaning and taking a few seconds to compose himself. He slowly lifted himself back to his knees, a monumental effort without the use of his arms or hands, before he slowly shuffled over and rested his head against Lucifer’s thigh.

“I didn’t say you could touch me,” Lucifer clicked his tongue and give Sam a semi-playful slap on the cheek that still resounded in the room and sent the boy reeling, before he shoved his head off his thigh, “Show your friend what you’ve been doing to your ass for, um, what, five hours now?”

Sam flinched and nodded, scrambling to comply. He bent over, back to the group as he raised his ass and struggled to push his bound arms far back enough to spread his cheeks and reveal a gaped hole dripping with lube. He whimpered, closing his eyes and focusing on the throbbing sting in his cheek and trying to ignore how he flushed from his face down to his chest with just the simple action.

“Wouldn’t it, like, break?” The woman asked, full-body inching closer and a look of wonder in her eyes. 

Lucifer got a kick out of those moments, when the creations experienced something for the first time. Their curiosity was shallow and easily distracted, like a cat with a new toy until it realizes it cannot eat it, moves on to something else. 

“No. Sammy here is pretty sturdy. And if something breaks, well, we glue it back together, hm?” Last sentence enunciated, directed at the boy at his feet. He pressed the sole of his shoe to Sam’s cheek, just hard enough to hold him in place, gaze darting up to the woman, “You can get your entire arm in, if you don’t mind the blood.”

One of the guys left the table to grab drinks from the liquor cabinet, part of the routine too because Lucifer liked to watch them drunk. Not that there were any inhibitions to begin with, but they seemed more… alive, then, more dynamic. 

And of course she didn’t mind the blood.

Sam whined, shifting just barely and letting his eyes slip shut because given the positioning of his body and of Lucifer’s foot pressed into his face he couldn’t see what was going on anyways. 

He gasped brokenly as there were suddenly fingers toying at, circling around his rim and pushing in up to the bottom knuckle with no effort and the woman still looked so goddamn curious, curling them in and up and adding a third.

Sam was squirming, knees sliding against the marble floor as he groaned and “Please, please,” It was so much worse when it was a human touch as opposed to a sex toy and he still hadn’t cum.

“Yes, Sammy, please what?” Lucifer goaded, “You know you’re only ever allowed to beg for more. Do you want more?” The other woman next to him handed him a half full glass of wine and kept her eyes on the show.

“Hh- m-more, yes, more, please.” Sam jerked his hips back and groaned. He cried out, eyes widening as the woman behind him shoved in her pinky and thumb and curled her hand into a loose fist, pushing in a few inches.

His walls spasmed around the intrusion and he writhed, barely managing to keep his hips up as his torso twisted. “Guh- huh, Lucifer- please.“ He gasped out, toes curling.

“Shh-shh, you know what would help with the pain?” Lucifer ground his shoe a little harder, tipping his glass to spill wine on the floor, some ending right in Sam’s reach, some trailing down his cheeks, “Drink.”

Sam let out a low groan and screwed his eyes shut, tongue darting out from between cracked lips to lap at the spilled wine. It was dry, sharp, did nothing for any thirst he had and he doubted he’d actually be able to drink enough to dull the pain and haze his mind and  _ fuck _ she had almost half her forearm in and he yelled out in pain, not nearly enough lube to ease the way and he felt like he was being split in two.

“Do I need to crush your fucking jaw, Sam?” Lucifer suddenly murmured, tone too sweet to suggest the threat it carried. The woman paused, eyes snapping up to him in confusion, a hint of fear. Two of the men on the side of the table exchanged the kind of look you would if you were considering a fast, immediate escape route. 

Perhaps because the creations had a smidge of self-preservation; perhaps because they have been killed and revived several times before and that… that was the tone.

“Because you’re just lying there, and you know, darling, you know. Something fucks you, you fuck back. Don’t  _ bore _ me.” Lucifer inhaled, his brows furrowing slightly at the reactions from the group, all kinds of exaggerated considering not a word was directed at them. He pressed his lips, before he licked his lower lip and decided that that too was interesting. 

Sam sobbed, then. Jerked his hips back frantically as if to make up for his failures, clenched down and forced out a trapped moan and did everything he could because he wanted this to stay nice. Stay good, at least, for the most part. He was panting, heaving, breath hiccuping and retching and he would have vomited if there were anything substantial in his stomach.

The line between accepting and terrified was a thin one and he could be right back to moaning with real fervor in an instant but right then he was desperate. And he howled whenever she was in up to her elbow and he kept bucking his hips like a good little whore because hesitation was resistance and they couldn’t have that.

“Feels weird,” The woman remarked a little impassively, staring down at her buried arm before snatching it all out in one abrupt motion, “Don’t wanna do it anymore.” She looked up at Lucifer, wiping blood and wetness on the side of her skirt. 

“Right? Gets a little underwhelming once it’s more of the same.” Lucifer agreed dismissively, “Why I just have him doing his thing in the corner most of the time, really.”

Lucifer lifted his shoe, crossing one leg over the other, “Sam. I think you owe everyone here an apology for being pretty boring so far.”

Sam slowly lifted off the floor, tears streaming down his reddened face as he sniffled. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, let me-“ He turned to look up at Lucifer, swallowing thickly and grunting. “What do you want- can I do, Lucifer, let me make it better, do anything, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing. The problem is, I want nothing. Already have your everything.” Lucifer shrugged, his face stone, and then he laughed. And the woman beside him jumped up, hands on Lucifer’s shoulder with a physical intimacy that only came from the fact that, well, he made her. 

“Can we get him drunk? So he’s more fun?” She asked, pursing her lips sympathetically. Sam wouldn’t know if the sympathy was for him, or because Lucifer sounded so utterly disinterested and she was trying to please. Probably the latter.

“Would help with the crying, too.” A man who’d all but monopolized the liquor cabinet for himself pointed out. “But too slow.” He reasoned after a few moments, watching intently as Sam prostrated himself and buried his face down, tugging at his arms because he wanted nothing more than to place his palms on the floor and lick Lucifer’s boots and try to be interesting but he wasn't allowed to touch.

Lucifer pulled up and raked a hand through his own hair, gave Sam a brutal kick in the guts for absolutely no reason, his tone still too low, dangerous, “Better find a way to make this worth watching quickly before I burn everyone here to the ground.”

Sam’s ‘friends’ didn’t like being burnt as much as the next guy. One of them, indistinguishable really, sometimes it felt like they were all the same person distributed into five different bodies, spoke quickly, rushing to grab a bottle of whiskey and waving it before Lucifer’s eyes, “Stick this up his ass?”

“No alcohol poisoning to worry about, right?

“Nothing to worry about really.”

“We’re sorry. That good? Good enough?”

Lucifer shook his head and chuckled dryly, “Knock yourselves out.”

Sam groaned and coughed, doubling over even as he was lifted, torso braced over the table and ass raised and he kicked weakly, shaking his head. Didn’t protest, didn’t say no, that would make it end worse for both him and the constructs and he really shouldn’t care about them but he did; at least a little.

And he barely felt it when the neck of the bottle went into his hole; and one of them had to hold it up otherwise it would fall out but the whiskey even at room temperature felt so fucking cold and he was jerking, crying out and his cock was pinned under his abdomen hard and still leaking against the wood of the table. He sobbed weakly and rocked his hips back (gotta put on a show, Sammy) and even then he could feel it, the slight smart of the alcohol against sensitive skin that really should have nothing of the sort against it, the very first affects of it even that quickly that left him groaning and his vision hazing and his skin flushing beyond the flush of over exertion and humiliation.

Someone pinned Sam’s face to the table with a palm pressing heavy on his ear, grabbed one of the handkerchiefs on the side table and slammed it against Sam’s mouth and nose, tipped another full bottle above his head, pouring slowly, slowly, over the fabric.

Sam let out a muffled scream and thrashed, eyes rolling back in his head. He’d been short on breath already and each frantic inhale just suctioned the dampened material to his nose and mouth and brought no relief and he was choking, gargling on what liquor did run into his mouth and it was too much. He tugged hard enough at his arms that even the soft rope binding them was beginning to leave friction burns, he kicked back with his legs with purpose because his stomach felt bloated and with the bottle still in his ass he couldn’t relieve the pressure. Everything was swimming and this time it wasn’t just the tears in his eyes causing it. Head throbbing, heart pounding, he wanted to beg but he had no words and no agency to yell them.

And Lucifer was watching, still only mildly invested. But at least that looked like team effort. Like they were trying. Like he didn’t have to weave his own entertainment for himself like every fucking day in this long endless existence. 

He waited another moment, then swatted the guy’s hand off Sam’s face, “You don’t waterboard for that long.” His instructive voice, all casual education, pulled the wet handkerchief off. 

He leaned over the table, propping his upper half up on the elbows, right in Sam’s face, “I don’t understand why you can’t suffer better. Put some effort into it. You get so lazy, so, um, agonizingly repetitive. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Sam sobbed, thumping the side of his head against the table and sniffling. “Sorry, sorry, am- don’t know how to do b- better. Don’t know how to be better for you, I’m so sorry.” He slurred, blinking rapidly. “I’m trying, please, I don’t- I’m, I’m trying.” Not good enough, never good enough. “Sorry please- please.” He croaked again, brow creased as he blinked away tears. “Tell m’how to do better. Tell me.”

“No, no, I’m fucking tired of telling you how,” Lucifer groaned exasperatedly through a scoff, hand reaching over to pry one of Sam’s eyes open and pour more alcohol straight over it, “I’m the only one putting effort into this relationship. You just lie there and cry and take, take, take. Fucking infuriating. Can’t even discuss the books I give you because you always want to cum. I wanna flay your dick and then cut it off and stuff it down your throat.”

Sam screamed. Thought he would go mad, slammed his head against the table again like he wanted to pass out but he knew he never could. Kept going anyways until there was blood smeared against the smooth mahogany and maybe that was what Lucifer wanted? Maybe, maybe he’d get something right for once and he wanted to contribute and discuss and give Lucifer everything,  _ everything,  _ body and mind and soul and whatever else intangible there was but he couldn’t and he was howling until his throat was hoarse and still struggling and maybe he was insane after so many lifetimes, so many inconsistencies, and he didn’t remember a Before even though he knew there had to be one and sometimes that alone was enough to break him because there was too much, too many millions of years and identities and he was a toy and the rest was set dressing and pain, pain,  _ fuck  _ his...everything hurt and he just wanted it to stop.

Lucifer sighed heavily and straightened up, stretched his back. Looked at the man right behind Sam still fucking him with the bottle, filling him up. Looked at the four others scattered around the scene trying to be useful, or amusing, or destructive. 

They wanted something to fuck and play with and they  _ disgusted _ him. 

He clicked his tongue again, frustrated, and then he buried his hand in Sam’s hair and yanked him up and off the table, strong enough to push the man behind him off of him. He snapped with the other hand and the ropes were gone, and then that same hand was clutching on a knife that he very unceremoniously, offered to a Sam that could barely fucking stand. 

“Kill them.”

Sam cried out weakly, took the knife slowly. He swayed, brow creased as he tried to focus and take a few steps forward. The bottle fell to the ground and shattered and he barely noticed, still stuck in place as he tightened his loose grip on the handle of the knife and lurched forwards towards one of the men. He felt so weak, arms felt like lead and time was like syrup, each thud of his heart a small eternity as the knife plunged into the thing’s chest and Sam felt nothing but the blood gushing over his fingers when he yanked it out and then it was a blur, room turning sideways- no, he was turning sideways, he was falling and his ears were ringing and he heaved out bile and whiskey onto the marble floor as he collapsed in a pathetic heap and struggled to get up. Couldn’t, couldn’t find his bearings or his arms, just twitched and coughed and vomited again.

The other four were hysterical, all but spreading around the room in panicked attempts to run. A line of ants when its smooth flowing march is interrupted. Except they had no nest to seek refuge in and their god had only ever created them to watch them squirm. 

They ran in circles, pathetic and a little comical, or perhaps aware enough of the futility of even trying. They begged. 

Everyone begged. 

Sometimes Lucifer thought of Michael and the little human he kept safe and guarded. Thought of making nice, or waging a war, or disturbing peace that was still peace. Something that wasn’t already broken.

Lucifer blinked, irritated but stationary, still watching as if he existed outside the picture. 

Sometimes the noise was too much. 

He squatted down and then descended fully to cross his legs next to Sam, picking up the knife from Sam’s cold trembling hand, toying with it absentmindedly, “Baby, stay with me.”

Sam grunted, jerking back weakly. “Ghn- hhsorry, m’so-“ He screwed his eyes shut and whimpered, slowly drawing his knees up to his chest. “Can’t, huh, can’t- sorry, sorry, sorry,” He groaned out before taking in a hitched breath and sobbing and he wanted to pull away from Lucifer, do something but he still didn’t have the energy and it was a failing; he should do better but it felt impossible.

“Watch this.” Lucifer hummed quietly, dragging Sam’s curled body onto his lap and shifting him so he was facing the room, his own head dipping to rest his chin over Sam’s hair. 

He studied the four still scurrying around the room, held the knife up, squinted, aimed. It got one straight in the neck. She gargled on a fountain of blood and fell down. 

Lucifer whistled, other hand slipping between Sam’s legs and stroking his cock slowly, “Huh, see that? Clean, precise. Why have I never trained you on animated targets? We should do that sometime.”

Sam slumped back against Lucifer and shifted, feet sliding against the mess of blood and vomit and liquor on the floor as he jerked ineffectually. He cleared his throat, brow creased. “Uhuh. S’...yeah.” He knew he should agree. But all he saw was panic and a gush of red swimming in a blurry haze. His eyes slipped shut again and he wanted to sleep, he wanted more than that, he wanted nothing and sometimes he wished Lucifer would just leave him in the blackness of the cage and let him go insane. 

“Right, sure, I’m talking to a brick wall. Why do I even bother? Here’s your orgasm.” And Lucifer fisted Sam’s cock, fast and frustrated, too tight, too hot, chaffed the skin without second thought. Still wrenched a violent almost painful climax out of him because  _ why the fuck not _ . 

Sam wailed, doubling over as he came hot and sticky over his stomach and chest and thrashed in Lucifer’s arms. “M’sorry, nn- please.” He sobbed out, twitching and delirious.

“Aren’t you always sorry, Sam? Kinda stops meaning anything on the one millionth iteration.” Lucifer sucked his lower lip through his teeth, a sick feral smile stretching his mouth thin, “You still have three friends left, would you rather I leave you to them to try and redeem themselves or would you like to be the one by my side?”

Sam blinked slowly and groaned, nodding, trying to tamp down his frantic nerves. “Help, I’ll help. I’m-“ He grunted, struggling to sit upright on his own. “By your side. Yours, let me, please.” He whispered, because he knew full well anything could get creative when it got desperate for its life and he didn’t want to take the brunt end of that from the three that remained.

Sam was always desperate for his life too.


	7. Meet the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some archangels like their things unbroken. ‘Some archangels’ don’t always have a choice, when every other piece on the board is shattered beyond recognition. 
> 
> Chapter-specific tags: references to forced bestiality, begging, forced incest.

“What can I do, Lucifer-”

Sam curled himself as small as he could possibly manage to get his long limbs to, pressed himself as close as he can get to the floor, as if he needed it to do him a kindness and swallow him whole and hide him. 

“-to please you, to entertain, to deserve mercy?”

Lucifer moved a piece on an ancient board of an ancient game that looked like an early generation of chess and he’d been playing against himself for the past twenty minutes or so, “I don’t know, Sam. You’ve been pretty uninspiring lately.”

Sam sniffled miserably and squeezed his face into the side of Lucifer’s shoe, pressed his lips to the faded leather like the debasement would save him. Not that it counted much as debasement, not anymore, because there was always so much fucking worse. “Please.”

“I could have a couple of hellhounds chase you,” Lucifer pondered, moving another piece to the opposite side and narrowing his eyes at the board, the rest of his proposal an afterthought, “If they catch you, you’re their bitch.”

Sam was lucid enough to ask the right question for once, “Would I have a chance?”

“Not if they have your scent, no.”

“Would you like to watch anyway? Would it... would that make you happy?”

Lucifer hummed in thought, and then, decided and rather flat, he pursed his lips, “Not today.”

“I could… give me a headstart and a demons’ blade and I’ll- I’ll hunt them down, get you their heads.” Sam tried again, voice wavering with the desperation of it all because he’d rather have something terrible than nothing at all, rather have Lucifer at his worst than what remained when he was taken out of the equation.

Lucifer stared down at him, lips curling in mild amusement, before he declared very seriously, “I’m not sending you out to kill dogs, Sam. I’m not a monster.”

And then Lucifer laughed, because that was the funniest thing he’d said in at least a couple of decades. And Sam laughed too, and then he cried, an ugly-sobbing full-body-shaking breathless sort of guttural wail.

“Please don’t leave me alone in nothing, Lucifer. Please, please.” Barely words, just babbling at this point because his brain felt like it was short circuiting and Lucifer hadn’t even raised a finger to hurt him, much less touch him and wasn’t it pathetic?

“If we’re out of ideas. I might just have to.”

“Please! Anything, I’ll do- I'll do anything.”

“Tell you what,” Lucifer said, deadpan and still entirely focused on his game, “I’ll send the hellhounds after you, give you a headstart. If they catch you, they’ll drag you kicking and screaming right into nothing until I think you’re useful again, but-” And he inhaled, leaning back a little and stretching his neck, “If you manage to find my brother first, and convince him to fuck your throat raw and finish on your face, you win, and next decade is entirely yours to design.”

And Lucifer sounded like he was offering the compromise of the century, “What do you say, champ?”

Sam’s face fell, his shoulders slumped, his everything cringed in like it wanted to disappear. It was impossible, it was pulling himself up by his bootstraps and Lucifer knew it because not only was Michael sex- and everything-else-human- averse, but Sam was an abomination. Sam was the reason they were all there in the first place. It was Sam that had fucked it all up and he hadn’t seen Michael save for the barest flashes of grace he could see behind the scenes, in the emptiness of the cage if they were close enough, but he was sure that’s how he felt. But something was better than nothing. A game was better than floating in empty nothing.

Lucifer offered the free decade because it would never happen. And even when Sam had influence, had creative choice, it was always Lucifer that got the final say. Was never a free pass, was never full independence. That solidified it in Sam’s mind that this wasn’t something he could win. But his next best thought was that maybe if he was entertaining enough Lucifer would be inspired enough to think up a new life for them and it would be enough.

He nodded desperately. “Yes. Yes, fuck, please please Lucifer yes.” He croaked.

And Lucifer finally smiled, a small quirk of the lips that seemed too fleeting, barely there for Sam to cling on to. He shifted a little in his chair and bent over at the waist to run two fingertips over the side of Sam’s cheek, “My little whore. Always begging for a cock in your mouth, hm? Gonna be so good, so eager, plead real pretty and get me jealous?”

“Yes, yes, Lucifer, gonna-“ Sam hiccuped, hands shaking as he clutched at Lucifer’s leg. “Gonna beg, gonna show him what a g- huh, good whore I am. Let him, let anyone use me if you want it, if you say so, yes, yes, yes,” He whispered, rocking back and forth as a wheezing sob clawed its way out of his throat and his face scrunched up with the force of it, mouth wide open like he wanted to scream and it felt like it was all caught up in his chest.

"Mm,” Lucifer tugged on Sam’s bottom lip with thumb and pointer, pinched a little, “You do know my brother is inside your brother, though, Sammy, but you don’t care, do you? Gonna ask little brother to cum on your face too?”

“Uhuh, I-“ Sam groaned, hands shaking. “Gonna ask him to cum all over my face, so dirty, Lucifer, all for you. Would let, uh, anyone, anyone if you wanted. F’you brought anyone in- we could do that? We can do that if you wanna, why don’t we,” He swallowed thickly, grunting. “Let me be a dirty little whore, we can do that.” Always trying to be interesting, and his face burned with shame even though his cock was rock hard in his pants and he didn’t know if he really was that fucked up or if it was conditioning at this point.

Lucifer cupped his face with both palms and pulled his head up a few inches to kiss him long and slow on the lips, whisper into his open mouth, “Filthy darling slut. Well, you’ve talked the talk. Now let’s see you walk the walk?”

He drew back and stood up, foot strategically positioned between Sam’s thighs and pushing slightly against his balls, “You’re gonna get a grip now, rise to your feet and put your clothes on and you’ll have 15 minutes to find your way, and then I’m sending Zic and Julius after you.” His eyes travelled to the door of the bedroom they were currently in, “You’ll go on my mark. Run, set traps, hide, fight, whatever you need to do until you find my brother. Don’t disappoint me.”

Sam stared at Lucifer for a split second before he yanked himself to his feet and started down the stairs.  _ Don’t panic, don’t panic. _

Kept a good pace, through the house, more like a mansion, that felt like a maze until he found the kitchen and a pantry. It was old fashioned, had a large hearth and- thank fuck, cast iron cookware and fire pokers. Maybe he had a chance. He grabbed a hold of the longest one and brandished it before he took a canister of salt and kept going, half jogging, half running. He took a chef’s knife from the block as he passed it and put it in his belt loop like a scabbard.

Outside was...not as expected. Not black, at least, that gave him places to hide. More like a dense forest, almost a jungle. Wet heat, no breeze, meant that if they could track his scent he was done. That’s when he ran, Zig zagging and doubling back and confusing his trail as much as he could, breath getting steadily more panicked.  _ Fuck. _

And then he came across a river. If the hounds operated like, well, regular dogs, he might have more than a fighting chance. He was beginning to wonder if Lucifer actually wanted him to ‘win’ as he stepped into the cold water and followed the current, half walking, half swimming, keeping the container of salt out of the water as he trudged through the sand and silt at the bottom.

Zig and Julius knew Sam and Sam knew them all too well. They’d ripped into him before, did worse before. Their entire existence revolved around Lucifer’s command to hunt or catch or tear or fuck. And Sam’s scent, his blood, the distinctive trail of fear and sweat and their master’s leftover grace always flowing beneath human skin. 

When they got their orders, they went. 

Lucifer wouldn’t cheat. Same startline. Down the stairs, through the mansion, around the kitchen, they followed. Fast and hungry and their chase purposeful, always too loyal, too intent, eyes on the prize. 

Sam could hear them baying. “Fuck, fuck,” He hissed, swimming across the river and clambering out onto the other side and he stared down at his arm in horror. Should have gone right into the faster part, shouldn’t have dwindled in the shallows, shouldn’t have  _ fucking  _ fell in because there was a leech and that meant it was either falling off or he was smashing it right there and that meant blood, meant he’d be so much easier to find. “Shit,” He tore it off his arm with another swear, tossing it into the water and staggering slightly. If he was running before he was sprinting now, trying to make up for lost time- and how was he even going to find Michael? If he called, that alerted the hounds- prayer. He didn’t pray to anyone but Lucifer, didn’t think his ‘god, please, no’ counted as a message to the big man upstairs.

_ Michael, Michael, please, help me, need you- need your help, fuck, Michael, please. _

The hounds howled closer. Somehow Sam could feel the way the space warped as they pierced through it from a distance. There was something biblical about their confident approach, slowing down now as if they knew they were so near and needn’t hurry. They brought doom with them, the air smelt of it. 

Sam could delay the inevitable, could fight and slice into them blindly, could barricade himself and bathe in salt and stall, stall, stall. But they would get him. They would find an in and drag an exposed limb and then he’s meat. And then nothing. 

Sam gripped the iron tighter, heart hammering in his chest. He kept going until he was wheezing like an asthmatic, eyes wide and scared and his legs still carried him even though he felt like he would burst.

_ Fucking please, Michael, need you, help me help me help me- _

Had to use the fire iron the hack his way through thick brush, arms getting scratched by thorns and brambles  _ no, no, no, please, help me, need you, help me Lucifer won’t- if I can find you, you get to me you can help, please fucking help me I can’t- _

And then there was light. 

The forest shone with it. It infiltrated the shadows and the trees and the thick tense air enveloping the construct and holding it together. Sam’s vision blurred, and the image before him was starting to crack into fragments, before he was snatched wholly out of it. There was nothing then but a stream of white light, and Sam scrambling into hands and knees, not sure when he fell, not sure what surface he was trying to stand on, or if it was gravity that kept him heavy and almost immobile or something else, something bigger and greater and sturdier and solid and warm and alien. So fucking alien. 

And Sam saw him, Michael. Adam. Same body. Entirely unhuman and standing a few feet away, eyeing him suspiciously, curious, mildly inconvenienced. 

“What do you want?” 

Sam pressed himself to the floor and trembled, hands shaking and balling into fists as he let out a low whimper and choked on the words because it was so much harder in person.

“I nh-need, need you to,” He grit out. “Need you to fuck my throat and cum on my face.” He finished in a whisper, voice wavering. “Please, uh, I wan- want, its- f’you don’t the hounds, and empty nothing, I don’t want to, please, please, just one thing, I’m sorry, it’s his game, Michael, A-Adam please, I need you to- cum on my face.”

Michael stared at Sam impassively, brow creasing slightly, “Is this a joke?” He cocked his head, eyes gleaming with something old and blue and offended, disgusted, “I assume not. I know how my brother operates, Sam Winchester, and you've made your bed, but this- and I regard you with no compassion whatsoever- is almost tragic.”

“Please!” Sam wailed. Insane, desperate, reaching up to grip tightly at Michael’s pant leg, pressing his face forwards into his crotch and sobbing. “Please, please, make you feel so fucking good. Just a minute, be a good whore for you,” He entreated, voice wavering even as he tried for a layer of arousal in his tone.

“Take it out on me, my fault you’re trapped down here, make it so I can’t talk right for years, ruin my throat, pull out my teeth so I know I’m not good for anything else please please please.” 

Michael looked stunned for the briefest of seconds, just a flash of flat-out shock and repulsion before his expression settled into a layer of reserved violence, “You’ve fallen so low.” He hummed, matter-of-fact, curiosity slipping in again, “I must say, Sam, it would give me some pleasure to smite you into nothing only so he can build you back up and do whatever it is you’re so terrified of and he’s going to do anyway.”

He shoved a hand in Sam’s hair and yanked his head off of him, “How obtuse can you be to think this is anything but a trap?” 

Sam swallowed, throat twitching. “Michael please,” He whined, hands sliding down the archangel’s thighs as he was pulled back. “He loves me, it’s a game, it’s a game and if I win I can-“ He shook his head. Knew it was a fucking long shot and might very well be a trap but he was still trembling, desperate on account of the slim chance it might not be. “Lemme suck you off, want-“ He struggled to press forwards, tears streaming down his face. “Want your cock in my mouth, bet- bet I could make you cum, bet you’re ss-so big…” He groaned.

“Child, I’m aware you’ve been tortured out of your mind a millennium ago. But are you forgetting whom you’re grovelling to flatter?” Michael didn’t push Sam off anymore, just looked down at him with a measure of disinterest, “You’re making your brother very uncomfortable.”

And then something in Michael’s eyes changed, softened. His expression emoted, the stone statue of his features wrinkling with heaviness and horror. His voice came out low and quivering, “Sam, don’t, don’t… I can’t see this. Stop. I can’t. I wanna fucking throw up.”

Sam sobbed, again, tears and snot streaming down his face as he squinted up at his brother, brow knit. “Adam,  _please_.” He didn’t stop. “Please, help me, help me. I’m sorry. Help me, please, Adam, hh-“ His breath caught in his throat and suddenly he was hyperventilating, eyes darting around as if the hounds would be right there because it was taking too long. “You don’t understand, let me,” And he was reaching forwards, again, tugging at the button to his brother’s jeans desperately. “Make you feel so fucking good, just a minute, all I need, need you to- I’m sorry-“

Adam dug his teeth into his lower lip and his jaw clenched. He was trembling all over, feet shifting restlessly as if he needed to run or kick or fall to his knees too. And when he spoke, he wasn’t speaking to Sam, “Michael please help him. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know- this is, this is fucking sick, I don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t look down, squeezed his eyes and sank nails into his own palms and breathed hectically through the words, “He’s always screaming, always screaming. Please help him. For me, Michael, please.”

And then silence, and Adam was staring into a point in the endless white light with wide eyes and a pale face, “No, no, It’s- I can’t. I can’t. My brother- I can’t.”

There was a conversation going on a radio signal Sam had no permission to access. And seconds after seconds after seconds would pass by and Adam was reasoning, pleading, promising, negotiating, until the very distant sound of a long drawn out howl interrupted the strings of Enochian and English and every pornographic iteration of the very same prayer huffed between violent inconsolable sobs and falling on deaf or utterly horrified ears. 

Adam froze. Urgent icy panic making his knees buckle. 

Sam couldn’t fucking take it. Wanted to rip his hair out and give up and go so screeching mad Lucifer would just consign him to a far corner of the cage forever. He wanted to forget himself and disappear, he wanted it to be fucking over. He dug his fingers into Adam’s hips and hitched down his jeans and pulled his flaccid cock into his mouth because maybe Lucifer would give him a chance if he at least fucking tried. He was still sobbing, could barely keep it between his lips because he just wanted to fucking scream.

And Adam had a moment, a single moment, where he wanted to strike Sam down and punch him, call him every name in the book, break his fucking face because he was here too and he suffered too and he didn’t want this, didn’t want to be part of those games, didn’t want his estranged brother lapping on his cock like a crack whore, mindless and manic and  _ violating  _ him. 

But he didn’t. His heart ached. And Michael wanted nothing to do with this, but if Adam wanted to help his brother, he was welcome to do it himself. So Adam did. He grabbed Sam’s face and stared numbly into the distance and tried to swallow past the bile at the back of his throat and he croaked, “Okay, okay, okay, Sam, okay. Fast, fast, please. Get it over with. Please get it over with.”

Sam arched into Adam’s hand and slowly relaxed. Like this was his escape. He did it so often, had Lucifer or someone else’s cock between his lips so often it may very well have been. So he licked and sucked and teased with fervor, hands still shaking and if his mind wasn’t shattered into a million pieces he’d be on the edge of vomiting too, be apologizing through kitten licks and kisses but he didn’t understand anymore. Tears still rolled down his face, hot and fat and wet, hands still shook so hard he could barely hold onto Adam’s hips, but he kept going and he moaned like a two bit fucking whore, like he loved it more than anything. 

When Adam was hard, when his cock was twitching in Sam’s mouth Sam pulled back, switched to using his hand and keeping his eyes lightly shut because if it ended up in his mouth it wouldn’t count.

It had been years and years and Adam was so close to forgetting what having his dick even touched felt like. Not that this was particularly a welcome reminder. But his cock wanted, responded with obscene ease to skillful attention and desperation and dedication he’d never been on the receiving end of. It struck all his defences down, assaulted his nerve endings and enforced a sort of sharp invasive pleasure that hurt, hurt so good and hurt so much. 

He barely made any sounds. And those he did were gritted through his teeth. Shame burnt through his chest and heat engulfed his face and he kept his eyes shut, squeezing around warm wetness streaming down his cheeks in abundance. Tried to think or imagine or visualize anything else. He couldn’t remember a face that wasn’t his own. 

Too long. It had been too long. 

He didn’t fight it when it hit him. The buildup, the escalation, the orgasm. He just shivered and almost doubled over and he fisted Sam’s hair and groaned loud and desperate and cried and begged Michael to make him forget it all. 

Sam pulled back, laughing hoarsely and breathlessly because what other reaction was there? He dragged two fingers through the release spattered across his cheeks and chin and held them up almost victoriously, chest shaking with each labored breath. He didn’t notice the tears still streaming down his face or the shame burning in his cheeks because  _ safe _ , he was  _ safe _ , he did it, he fucking did it for once in his life he’d done something right and he was calling brokenly for Lucifer, falling back down onto the floor to curl into a fetal position and rock himself but he was still so fucking thrilled. Wasn’t he?

“Hey Michael, long time no see.”

Adam turned to the voice and his posture stiffened. A cold unamused gaze drifted down to a soft wet penis and tucked it in pants and looked up, tone neutral, cheeks losing the flushed red and eyes radiating eternal blue, “Not long enough. Thought we agreed on keeping a distance, Lucifer.”

The warning in his tone didn’t land. The two archangels could rip each other into pieces forever and never actually get anywhere. And it was Michael who wanted a semblance of fragile peace. It was Michael who had a human he didn’t want broken as collateral damage, a vessel he still wanted to preserve for a war that might never come. But Michael still had faith. Michael still waited for divine intervention and forgiveness and had no stakes in playing destructive games to pass the time. His fallen brother would just  _ love  _ to play. 

Lucifer inched toward Sam and halted there, just standing beside the curled heap of damage and madness and sparing it a glance before he shrugged and flashed a friendly placid smile, “As much as it breaks my heart how we live right next door and have only had just the one playdate for the kids, you know we won’t outstay our welcome. Just here to pick up Sammy and I’ll be gone before you know it.”

Sam perked up, a little, at the mention of his name before he dragged himself closer to Lucifer, still on the floor, and curled up at his feet. One hand resting against his ankle, thumb stroking obsessively at his denim jeans and the other fisted loosely at his side. His eyes were wide and fascinated with the simple motion, lips still parted in an obscene smile as he let himself bask in Lucifer’s presence and  _ I knew it wasn’t a lie, knew I could win, thankyouthankyouthankyou- _

Michael watched the not-so-subtle display of ‘affection’ with disturbed captivated attention, “So was that it? Is he saved now?”

Lucifer followed his gaze down to Sam, grinned with something like proud fondness, “Of course he’s saved. I’m not impossible to please. Just rocking your touch-starved pet’s world in two glorious minutes while you watch is enough to give me the warm and fuzzies. And Sammy did it beautifully just like I knew he would. He knows I’d never trick him.” He tapped his shoe twice against the ground, his energy jubilant and merry, his words too serious for how playfully he wielded them, “Word to the wise, Mikey. Gotta find a way to spice up the relationship every now and then, keep it fresh. Routine is a silent killer, man; just take it from me.”

Michael’s upper lip curled into a hostile sneer, “Take your freak show and go.”

"Aren't you a bucket full of hospitality. Oh well. I'll see ya."

And Lucifer chuckled and military-saluted his brother with two fingers, crouched down to pull Sam to his chest and rose to his feet carrying him up bridal-style. He turned his back to the endless stream of white and Sam felt it fade away into colors and trees and a river reflecting the soft rays of a midday sun. 

The devil spread his wings and wrapped two of them around himself and the human between his arms. He marched through the forest like something out of a fairytale and promising fairytales in return. 

“Where do you wanna be next?” He asked, a self-satisfied smile lazy and carefree and pressed too close and cold and breezy into Sam’s hair and heart and soul, “Name your wishes, baby.”

Sam smiled dopily and melted into Lucifer, head and shoulders swaying gently as his eyes fluttered shut. “Som’thing soft.” He murmured. “Don’t wanna remember. Uhm- own a, a bakery with a cafe in front, live in the loft upstairs and you’ll stop in for coffee from time to time. Get more involved, fall in love, date, get married, house with- with a yard and I’ll be good and take care of you. Get a dog. Grow old together. Die in your arms.” He reached up to weakly cup Lucifer’s cheek. His heart skipped a beat.

"All soft, please, no surprises-" Anything he wanted, always variations on the same theme. Normal, vanilla, domestic, sounds like something out of a rom com, boring for everyone else. For him, peace.

"Please."


	8. A Walk Along the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer has a penchant for fun animal facts at the best of times.
> 
> Chapter-specific tags: gore, death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very merry Christmas to InHisImage! I wrote this chapter solo so it’s a little shorter than usual, but I had a bunch of fun and I hope you like it. Merry Christmas dude :)

Sam was walking. He was going to meet Lucifer at the edge of the water, and they would be going for a swim. 

At least, that was what he was told. Lucifer gave him a starting point, and told him to go on until he felt sane under his toes and water covering up to his ankles. And then he disappeared- presumably so he could wait for Sam at the water’s edge.

Sam let out a shaky breath. The starting point was in a soft, grassy meadow, bordered on all sides by forest. Some of the grass was taller, like wheat, he would have to wade through it. There were stony parts and dusty paths and little field mice that would dart out of his path, sparrows and swallows that would hop to and fro on the ground and occasionally alight and fly off into the distance if he stepped too close. He didn’t take the paths. He knew he had to go straight on. 

The meadow was larger than it looked. It felt like an hour of walking- which really wasn’t any trouble for him, he had gone on longer. Been forced on death marches through blizzards and long treks across hot coals- he could go on longer. 

The forest was bright, sunlight filtered down through the branches and dappled the pine needle and brush covered floor. He could hear birds chirping. He liked that. Sometimes Lucifer didn’t go through the effort of making animals, the creations and woods would feel too empty, then. 

Another hour and Sam was feeling it. The sun wasn’t any lower in the sky, though, and he had the mercy of socks and hiking boots, so it was okay. He could hear water, anyways, and a couple more yards until a wide river with pebbles all across the shore, Lucifer sitting on a large rock in the middle with nothing but swim trunks on and, 

“Oh, buddy, don’t look so excited.” He hummed, inspecting idly under his nails. “I said sand. Do you see any?”

Sam’s shoulders immediately slumped. “Lucifer-“ He started, before he was immediately cut off. 

“Sand in your toes, water up to your ankles, buddy, I meant what I said. See you at the finish line. Keep moving.” And then Lucifer was gone.

Sam groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. He stared down at the water- figured it wouldn’t come up much further than his waist. He carefully lowered himself to sit on the rocky shore and tuned his boots off, stuffed the socks inside so he could wade in barefoot. He tied the shoelaces together and let them rest over his shoulders before he started walking.

The water was cold- refreshing, heaven on his aching feet. The current was strong, but slight enough it hardly affected him. The large boulders and rocks resting throughout the river blocked it enough that it only came through in patches. 

He ended up having to half swim, half walk when he was halfway through, and the boots ended up getting wet anyways, but he hoped the socks would stay dry.

Fifteen minutes to get across. The sun never wavered, Sam still so fucking grateful because this was easy, this was okay. He’d had worse, had always had worse, had a million times worse in a million billion different ways. 

He nearly collapsed on the opposite shore. Soaked, shaking, panting because he just needed a fucking rest, already. Five minutes. Five minutes, just five minutes. 

Sam opened his eyes to night. To an owl hooting in the distance, to, blearily, something wooden and thick resting right between his eyes. 

Sam’s gaze travelled up the length of...a bat. A wooden baseball bat, at the end of which was Lucifer’s hand. “Ngk- Lucifer?”

“Sam, buddy.” Lucifer chuckled weakly, tapping Sam’s forehead with the end of the bat. “Did I say you could rest?”

“Lucifer-“

“Did I say you could fucking rest? Say you could take a little nap? ‘Meet me at the water’s edge. Keep going.’ Does that sound like ‘take a fucking nap in the middle’ to you, baby?”

“No, no, Lucifer, I’m sorry, only five minutes it was only going to be-“ Sam sniffled, tears already beading in his eyes as he struggled to get up to his knees. Lucifer planted his foot firmly on Sam’s back and forced him back down.

“You don’t get five minutes, either. You don’t get to stop. You don’t get to rest for ten fucking seconds, Sammy. Sam, Sam, Sam, come on, you had to have known that. So. We’ll send you back to the start.”

Sam wailed, sobbing, now, clawing at the pebbles under him and turning up clouds of mud. “No, no, no, no, Lucifer, I’m sorry-“

“Bottom of the ninth, let’s see if we can hit a home run!”

“No-“

Pain. Blinding, white hot, right at the base of his skull, he could feel bone fracturing. And then again. And again. And then Lucifer was using his feet, stomping down again and again and all he could see was red and he was sure his eye popped out but he was screaming and-

Sam stood in a wide, grassy meadow with the sun high in the sky above him. His clothes were clean and dry, he felt no pain, the shoes on his feet were comfortable. He needed to keep moving forward. No rest, no breaks, he knew, he knew if he hesitated too long that would count as a break. So he jogged. He jogged, even though he knew just getting to the river, the first obstacle, was a long while, but Lucifer never made things impossible. Just hard.

As he approached the river, again, he was immediately hit with a wave of stench. Rotting meat, putrid, bloated, lapped by the current. His body lay on the opposite shore, and he felt sick to his stomach. He stared for five seconds and  _ no breaks, keep going _ , swam across to the other side. It felt wider, this time. There were leeches on his shins, growing fat on his blood, but he didn’t stop to pick them off. They would fall eventually. He had to keep moving forwards.

His feet were soaking in his boots, but that was okay. He could ignore it, just go straight, push branches out of the way and trudge through an area suddenly thick with leaves and branches on the soil and-

He was falling. Instant felt like an eternity, like his heart sinking into the pit of stomach and being dissolved by acid and he was screaming, and then, 

_ Crunch _ . It was a crunching noise, when you were impaled. Because of the bones. There was a squelch factor, too. Sam knew all the noises his body could make. He gasped for air and found none, eyes rolling back in his head and mouth taped like a fish because there was a wooden pole sharped into a now blood and gore covered spike sticking up through his stomach, one through his right shoulder, and one through his left knee and it was excruciating, all he could do was let out sharp choked out screams. Dirt walls were on all sides, rising up and up for very nearly ten feet, and then, peering over the edge, was Lucifer wearing a safari suit and a hat.

“Did I warm you about the tiger pits?”

Sam screamed, sobbing desperately and trying to raise his arm as if Lucifer would pull him out.

“I’ll take that as a no. Well. Watch out for tiger pits, next time, okay, buddy?”

Sam took five hours to die. Each of them agony.

Sam woke up in a grassy meadow, and he screamed at the sky. The sky answered with a bolt of lightning to the skull.

Sam woke up in a grassy meadow standing on his burnt corpse. He sobbed, and walked on ahead. The scent from the body in the river was enough to have him reeling, was enough to bring tears to his eyes. The sound of buzzing flies was enough to help him steer away from the tiger pit. He picked up a long stick and always checked the ground ahead of him when he walked.

Eventually the forest gave way into plains, gave way into desert. Sam was beyond thirsty, and Lucifer was crouching atop a saguaro cactus as if he were weightless. Given the circumstances and environment, Sam thought he looked rather like a vulture. He kept walking.

“There’s a canteen folded in your pocket, you know.” Lucifer offered helpfully. “I recommend filling it in the river.”

Sam collapsed from heat exhaustion one hundred yards later and woke up standing on his burnt, starting to smell corpse. His feet sank through the skin into his guts and he grimaced.

The entire walk to the river smelled like decay. He was growing numb to it. The corpse in the river was bones. He knelt down and filled his canteen, sighing and biting his lower lip. This, apparently, didn’t count as a break. He figured that thing his shoes around his neck the first go-around hadn’t counted either, because it was for the purpose of moving forward. That meant that breaks were constituted only by idle time. So long as he was doing something, he didn’t have to walk. 

He picked up a big stick on the other side (he’d stumbled into three tiger pits since the first, could never be too careful) and started on through the forest.

Bodies in the desert, he found, didn’t smell. He walked ten feet past it, the furthest he’d ever gotten, and paused. And then he sat crosslegged and began to dig a hole, fingers sliding through the sand and piling it on the sides. Six inches deep, a foot wide. He emptied his canteen into it, smiled, slipped off his boots and his socks, and stood in the water.

“Aha. No. Nice try, though, Sammy.” Lucifer spoke from behind him. Sam noticed that there was a vulture picking at his corpse ten feet back, a real one, this time. Going for the eyes with practiced ease.

Sam said nothing. Just looked at Lucifer, and waited. Waited for the bat, or a blade, or his fists, even.

He didn’t get any of that. Instead, the ground rumbled beneath him.

“Did you know the saltwater crocodile is the largest species of crocodile?” Lucifer hummed, cocking his head to the side. “Of course, that is neither saltwater nor big enough for a crocodile, but uh- only the best for you, right Sammy?”

The water he was standing in shook, too, ripples dancing across the surface, and the sand turning into silt suddenly split open and there were long, powerful jaws closing around his shins as the crocodile sprang forth from the earth.

Sam  _ howled. _ And he dug at the sand to try and pull himself away, but it had no give, just sliding through his fingers as he writhed.

The crocodile shook him and pulled him and snapped further up his body with each but, trying to rip off chunks.

He got lucky, one well placed crunch to the spine and he woke up standing in his bloated, rotting, burnt corpse.

The sparrows and swallows were replaced by crows and ravens. They cawed indignantly as he trudged past.

Tiger pit.

Bull shark in the river.

Dive bombed by magpies and pecked at until he lost his eyes, wasted away to bones.

The crocodile, still alive, making another meal of him. 

Fallen on by a tree.

Drowned. 

Heat exhaustion. 

Freak thunderstorm, flooded the desert. Drowned again.

Over and over again, his bodies markers for the next go around. It felt like a thousand years before he got out of the desert and somehow, into a tundra. It was one hundred and fifty, in all actuality.

Lucifer was wearing a parka, he had a thermos of hot chocolate held between his gloved hands. “There’s a Bowie knife in your jacket.” He hummed, sipping at his drink and closing his eyes as he savored the warmth of it. Sam was salivating. “I recommend.” He swallowed. “Finding something nice and furry to skin.” And then he was gone.

Sam walked through the snow, through the ice. His skin was flushed pink, he couldn’t feel his fingers clasped around the handle of the knife, couldn’t feel any inch of his body. Pink turned into white, turned into blue. He kept moving, even though all he wanted to do was close his eyes and collapse. 

He found something furry. It wasn’t, however, very nice at all. It was a pack of wolves, and they seemed hungry.

“You know.” Lucifer said, crouching by Sam’s remains as the wolves dug and tore and bit at his chest and stomach. His eyesight was fading, he was coughing up blood, still shaking.

“Said furry thing doesn’t need to be from here. Use your noggin, big guy. Meet you at the beach.”

Hunting wasn’t idle. Counted as moving forward. Sam took a week to trap and kill enough foxes and rabbits to stitch together a makeshift hooded parka. It was warm, but he had to carry it all the way through the desert.

He had to wonder if that was what Lucifer wanted. On the plus side, though, it seemed his bodies were left with everything they had the first time around. Sam started taking what he needed from them. Extra canteens. The parka, if he died while carrying it. Extra shirts, socks, belt, anything he could use. Meat, if he got to them fast enough.

Sam found out that the tundra had a frozen lake. It seemed it wasn’t frozen enough to bear his weight. So he drowned under the ice, and lost his parka. God fucking damnit.

Sam woke up standing on brittle burnt bones. He was mauled to death by a coyote he was trying to trap to make a replacement parka.

Sam woke up standing on broken bones. He collapsed again in the desert. 

Sam woke up. Sam went promptly to sleep because she just wanted it to fucking stop. First he woke up to the fact he was sleeping on a fire ant colony. Then, 

Sam woke up to standing on dust a few feet from a fresh corpse. Sam walked because he had no other options. He finished his half made, blood stained parka. He filled three canteens, he swam through the water and didn’t pick off the leeches on his shins. He trudged through the desert, through the tundra (skirting around the frozen lake). He found himself in another forest, tropical, this time, and just as he heard the surf and stepped out onto the beach, 

“Hey, Sam. Good to see you. Did you know anacondas will wait in trees so they can fall on, uh, ambush, their prey?” Lucifer was wearing swim trunks and carrying a donut-shaped float, already blown up with air.

Sam figured that out when five hundred pounds of hungry snake landed on his back. Being eaten alive, crushed to death, was so fucking slow and so fucking painful, because of course he lived through the constriction, had to asphyxiate slowly as he was digested.  _ Motherfuck _ .

Meadow. Forest. River. Desert. Tundra. It felt like he was wading through a sea of bodies, of bones, of gore and decay and he was fucking slicked with it by the time he got to the rainforest, and, 

“Watch out for tigers, Sam. The pits were in the wrong spot.”

“Hey, did you know that there used to be centipedes the length of tour busses? Man, those things were fun.”

“Gorillas just don’t like you, man, what can I say.”

“Uh-oh, I don’t think those berries are good to eat. Hey, Sam, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“So, kinda anachronistic, but man: remember Jurassic Park? You and Dean used to love that movie, am I right?”

“Wow, look at how bright that frog is! Aw, he thinks you’re his friend. Look at how he landed on your hand. Hey, Sam, remind me again what bright colors on animals mean?”

Sam woke up standing on bones, on bones, on bones. 

Sam wept when he stepped onto the beach. Lucifer was waiting, a few yards into the water, lounging on a floatie and sipping at a cocktail in a coconut. 

Sam collapsed when he stepped into the water. Bathed in it, drank it in, crying laughing. 

“Hey, buddy, watch for the-“ There was a sting of pain. Sam was kneeling, ankles out of the water as he stared at the cone shaped shell buried in the sand.

“Oh well. Meet the most venomous animal in the world, Sammy. Cool, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also this is being published at one in the morning, unedited, so I’m sorry if it makes no sense/if there are any typos. Comments and kudos make my day!


	9. Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has some solo time. Reconnecting afterwards requires certain adjustments. 
> 
> Chapter-specific tags: ableist language, psychological horror, medical setting

The room was white. The lights were white, the window was frosted white, all he could see of himself aside from the occasional chestnut lock that fell over his eyes and the glimpse of a tan nose in his unfocused gaze, was white. White canvas and white straps and he knew there were little silver buttons in back but he could never see them.

The nurses were white. The gauze on their faces was white, their hair under their little caps was white, everything, everything covered in white. Gloved hands. Full sleeves, not an inch of skin, all white save for the little red crosses.

Charlie was not white. Charlie was full of colors. Charlie shared the room with Sam, he didn’t wear a jacket, he had rough calloused fingers and real, vibrant skin and shaggy black hair. He undid the little silver snaps on the back of Sam’s jacket, he pulled loose the straps, he pulled the canvas open enough to hitch down the pants Sam wore under it and fucked into him nice and fast and good, _slap slap slap_ and wet slicking noises.

Sam’s lips would part in a cute title ‘o’ and that was the noise he would make as he was pushed forwards, head jerking against the cushioned floor, ‘ _Oh, oh, oh, Hh- Ooh!’_ And he would hum and grunt and moan. He didn’t know very many words.

He would parrot.

“Time for meds!” 

“Good boy.”

“Filthy little whore.”

“Insane bitch.”

“Let’s get some water in you, okay?”

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He needed to get cleaned up every night, because his hole was leaking cum and blood (staining the white) and the crotch of the jacket was filled with cum and sometimes stained yellow, and he didn’t have a catheter or a bedpan.

He always fell asleep. After the snap, snap, pull of the buttons and straps. Woke up clean and rested and never saw his body under the canvas.

Sam knew he was named Sam. Sam knew his routine (meds sex ECT clean sleep meds sex ECT…). Sam knew a few good words, Sam was a good boy and Sam took his meds. Sam knew how to eat Charlie out like a champ, knew how to bury his tongue and nose in the other man’s musty hole. Sam knew he had a beautiful husband somewhere with blonde hair and blue eyes. Sam knew nothing else. 

He didn’t know his life. He didn’t know his last name, he couldn’t count past three (one, two, three pills in the cup every day), he didn’t know the word ‘no’.

“Good morning, Sam! We’re going to do something new today.”

“Time for meds?” Sam frowned, brow creasing.

The nurse’s head tipped slightly to the left, an expression that wasn’t much of an expression with no facial features to support it. But Sam knew to translate it as curiosity. She offered her hand to Sam, urging him to get up, “Not quite, Sam. You had your meds already, haven’t you. Come with me. You’ve been doing so well you’re finally allowed a visitor.”

Sam blinked slowly, owlishly, as he stared up at her gauze-wrapped face. “...Visitor.” He echoed, word pinging around in his mind with only a vague meaning behind it. “Done well, good boy,” He grunted as he struggled to sit up, tried to straighten and stand even with the jacket, even while he was bound so well and so tight.

“Very good boy,” she cooed at him, leaning forward a little to help him up to his feet. And the second Sam was up, the man on the opposite bed, Charlie, was sitting up too, reaching almost mechanically to grab at one of the straps on Sam’s jacket to pull him closer, grunting like someone was taking his toy away from him. 

Sam stumbled, blinking rapidly as his head whipped around to look at Charlie, brow knit and eyes wide. “Ghn-“ Not distressed, just confused, because if he’d already taken his meds then he really should be being a good boy for _Charlie_ , not going somewhere else, he liked his schedule, something was wrong? Something was wrong if it wasn’t normal, and his breath was coming faster and his face was flushed (always flushed, always too warm with all the layers) and he grunted again, bewildered as his gaze found the nurse again.

And then there was a small chuckle, the nurse slapping Charlie’s hand away and firmly pushing Sam forward, “Off we go, Sam. You can make it up to your friend later tonight if you’re ever coming back to this room. Wouldn’t that be nice? Never coming back to this room?”

She spoke slowly as she led Sam outside, shutting the door behind them, “Or are you going to miss us as much as we'll miss you?”

Sam shook his head, walking along without fuss or complaint, _such a good boy_. “Nev-“ He cleared his throat, cleared it again, so dry, too dry, “Never?” He knew that one but he didn’t comprehend it, if he wasn’t going back to his room that was another break in his routine and even though he couldn’t see them he could feel his hands shaking just with the barest thought of it all.

“Uh- huh, uhm, get cleaned up?” Sam croaked anxiously. Where were they going again?

The nurse said nothing, one hand on Sam’s shoulder to guide his movements or keep him balanced when he waddled. They moved through a long hallway and stopped by a room at the end. She knocked twice, then opened the door and gently allowed Sam in. 

“That’s it for me. Good luck, Sam.” She nodded, no eyes, no lips, no brows. Nothing to tell if she was smiling or frowning. And yet somehow her voice seemed genuine, soft and kind. They were always nice to Sam because Sam was their favorite good boy. 

But something was wrong. 

Sam’s lips were just barely parted, he was breathing through his mouth and the confusion never left his face as he regarded her. He took a step away, ever so cautious, before he turned to look in the new room he’d never been in before and his heart was clenching in his chest at the unfamiliarity of it all as he shuffled inside. 

On the couch, in the corner, Lucifer was sitting with one leg thrown over the other, a magazine like those you’d find in any hospital’s waiting room rested on his lap and open. His eyes, though, were on Sam. 

And the glimmer of curiosity in his fixed gaze was genuine, just as the way his expression softened, lips curling into a small smile, “Hey, buddy.”

Sam’s lower lip quivered and he took a few steps forwards. There he was, he knew the face, _beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes and a smile that shines like the fucking sun, so beautiful, my husband_ but he didn’t have the words, never had any of the words he needed. “H- He- Hello.” He stammered, whimpering. 

This one was different. This one was special. This entire life was an experiment and for the first time in a very long time, Lucifer didn’t know what to expect. 

He built the hospital, made the nurses, made a couple of patients, miscellaneous characters with varying degrees of awareness. And then he threw Sam in the middle and… left. 

That was five years ago, if Lucifer had bothered to count. 

In his defence, Lucifer was bored, was uninspired, was getting a little too antsy with the redundancy of it all. And Sam had said something ungrateful and aggravating that Lucifer no longer cared to remember, but it seemed to justify the punishment then. So, sure, mad house, leave the boy there, see what happens.

Alone-time had been a little refreshing at first. Lucifer didn’t watch, didn’t look in, didn’t check on him. He wanted to be surprised. He wanted to miss him. He wanted to wonder what Sam might be doing now. And so the devil did what he’d usually do before Sam was ever there, worked on his own side projects, played with biology, sulked, wrote books, painted, made music, created little empty universes. And then he started picking fights with Michael that didn’t really go anywhere either. Tried, this one time, to hug it out and make up. It wasn’t real. He had no intention for it to last. But he wanted to see if it would work. Michael didn’t bite.

Well, he was bored again. And he did miss Sam. And he did wonder. 

And Sam… Sam looked textbook certifiable. Which, in all honesty, was a little pleasant to see. If Sam had looked like he’d been having the time of his life, Lucifer would have probably hated what that said about himself. Or he’d have found it equally interesting. He wasn’t sure. 

He wasn’t sure and that was the beauty of it. 

“Come here. Let me look at you. My beautiful crazy boy. Come.” He laid the magazine aside and gestured to a spot by his feet, face lit up with fondness. 

“Good boy,” Sam murmured, face lighting up in such a genuine smile for a second, almost childlike in the unrestrained happiness of it as he shuffled forwards and dropped to his knees. “Hey, hey, uhm-“ He cleared his throat, leaning forwards to rest his head against the inside of Lucifer’s thigh. “Hey.” He relaxed almost instantly, change in routine forgotten as he just let himself lay there for a moment. 

Sam shifted his arms, a little, crossed them a little further held them tighter than they already were forced to be. “G’na- good, uh, whore?” He asked, pressing forwards just a little bit, face angled towards Lucifer’s crotch until it wasn’t, and those wide, doe brown eyes were fixed right on Lucifer’s again, all questions and hardly any answers. 

Lucifer’s chuckle was heartily and affectionate, the way a parent would find their toddler’s silliness the most endearing thing in the world. He licked his lower lip and buried his hand in Sam’s hair, ruffling it, “Sure, but not right now. Let me see what we have here. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much.”

He cupped Sam’s face and lifted his head up, his gaze impassioned and intrigued and searching. Sam was clean. No bruises on exposed skin. Nothing broken or torn. Though his arms were probably dysfunctional with the lack of use. His thoughts, though, his mind… was mud.

Lucifer had expected a level of decay given Sam’s entire company were basically robots. Given Lucifer wasn’t there to maintain any mental stimulation or reconnect the wires. But this… well, interesting. 

“Not much capacity for language, hm?” Lucifer mused, leaned forward to plant a kiss on his forehead, “How was your day today, baby? Try to tell me. I’ll understand.”

Sam blinked again, and nodded. “Ta-take, uh-“ Not take, not take, what was it? Routine, routine, routine was good, he did that until he hadn’t anymore. “Took,” That was it. “Took, uh, meds, t-time for meds, good boy,” The nurse had ruffled his hair and he’d smiled so hard it hurt his cheeks. Then what? Days slipped into days slipped into years, everything was garbled, but he was sure today… “M’good little whore,” He’d buried his face in Charlie’s crotch, _good little boy, good whore, that’s it you little fucking bitch_ , “Time, uh,” What did he do? “Sleep, n’-“ No ECT, today, and, “Ha- Have visitor, hel- hello. Hey.” 

He smiled that wide smile again, rocking from side to side and humming.

“How were you a good whore today, Sammy?” Lucifer thumbed at the boy’s lower lip, wet and pink and plush and Lucifer wanted to kiss him, suck him dry and eat him up and take him right then and there.

Sam frowned, lower lip pushed out in a sort of pout as his brow creased in thought. “Uh- g-good, uh...let- let me?” He leaned forwards, placed an open mouthed kiss to Lucifer’s crotch and let out a breathy sigh. 

Lucifer stared down at him, silent. His eyes darted to the door and the world constructed behind it went down in flames. He pressed his lips a little, savoring nearby annihilation for a second or two. And then, “Who?”

Sam pulled back. “Nnnot good?” He hazarded a guess, head flopping inquisitively to the side. _Sorry, sorry, don’t have the words_. “Charl- Char-lie.”

Lucifer leaned back in his seat and his brows furrowed slightly. His face, otherwise, was blank, “How often?”

 _Meds sex ECT clean sleep meds sex ETC clean sleep_ Always. Sam shook his head, he didn’t understand, he was shying back and his lower lip was quivering and he’d done something wrong again, hadn’t he? “Good boy?” He croaked, hopeful.

Lucifer’s fingers drummed on the armrest of the couch, jaw clenching, “I said,” and he hissed through a tight smile that looked terribly wrong, voice lifting with the impatience, “How often? How many times you fucking retard?”

Sam whined, rocking a little faster and hunching in on himself. Routine, routine, how long, how long? “Uhm- uhm, Huh, g- good whore, always m’g- guh-ood whore, a- a- always?” He whimpered, sniffling and hiccuping and screwing his eyes shut.

Lucifer’s gaze was fire. 

There was no reason for this. Not really. Not like Sam hasn’t fucked or been fucked by every model of human-shaped or not-so-human-shaped creation Lucifer had ever spawned into being or manufactured for that exclusive purpose, after all. But Lucifer hasn’t been there to watch, or to order it, or to tell Sam to enjoy it. And something about that… stung. 

Irrational, unjustified, violent.

Lucifer sneered, hand snapping forward to yank Sam closer by the roots of his hair, twisting his wrist to force their eyes to meet, “Do you even know who I am?”

Sam cried out in startled, panicked pain, blinking rapidly and staring up at Lucifer. “Who- who?” He dissected the sentence slowly in his mind and made nothing of it. Mud. Rust. Stagnant, wouldn't work right and he didn’t even understand that. But he knew beautiful-blonde-hair-and-blue-eyes was his husband. He saw the word, saw the shapes of it, heard it in his mind but he couldn’t force his mouth, work his lips around the foreign syllables. “Wh- Hu- huh, huh-sa-ba-and.” He sounded it out, quivering.

Lucifer scoffed aggressively, his grip tightened and he rolled locks of hair around his fist and tugged, “My name. What’s my name?”

Sam squealed, sobbing again and shaking his head. “B- beautiful, beautiful, uhm-“ New word, _good boy_ , nurses would have been so proud, he knew he was a good boy and he didn’t know why he was hurting. He shook his head again, face flushed with grief and eyes watering and snot streaming down over his upper lip. “Beau- beautiful? lo-love you?”

For a brief second there, Lucifer stared at him vacantly. And then the gravity of the insult found its way to his eyes and glowed red as blood, murderous. 

“That’s your one constant,” he murmured, too quiet, “Your one constant, Sam. You’re not allowed to forget that. I don’t care if you forget your fucking name. You’re not allowed to forget that.”

And in all honesty, when Lucifer is calmer, he’d objectively acknowledge that this was not fair. But as it was, at the moment, it didn’t matter. 

“You always find a way to ruin a good moment, Sam. Why do I ever fucking bother? Get up.”

Sam sniffled, vision clouded with tears he couldn’t wipe away. He rocked back on his heels; he couldn’t stand up on his own. He tried, though, shifting and grunting with each small effort until he collapsed forwards and sobbed, screamed into the carpet because he didn’t understand.

“Pathetic. Disgusting. How do you expect me to ever touch you again? Everything I taught you-“

That Lucifer could snap back into being, because it was still there, still right there in Sam’s head, in Sam’s memories, buried deep under piles of dust and ashes. Lucifer could snap language and memories and recognition right back into Sam. But how fucking dare he forget? His one constant. This, above and beyond any and everything else. 

He did snap his fingers, but it wasn’t to mend what was broken. 

Sam was strapped to a chair in front of a white screen, still in his jacket, completely immobile. He couldn’t move his neck if he tried. He could barely twitch his fingers or curl his toes. His eyelids were glued open and he couldn’t shut those too and Lucifer was beside him, breathing in, slowly, breathing out, slowly. 

“I’ve made you this homemovie, Sam. Best of. Highlights. The road so far,” Lucifer whispered against his ear, voice slick like honey and yet somehow seething, “You’re going to sit put and watch. Soak it in. Ingest it. This is your fucking eternity. I’ll wait.”

Sam stared on, because he couldn’t do anything else, because he didn’t have a choice. His mouth hung open like he’d forgotten to close it. And in an instant, the screen wasn’t white anymore.

Red and orange and yellow, hazy, like it wasn’t quite right, not through his eyes. Something fully ablaze and even though he barely recognized the concept of fire something in his heart clenched with half remembered familiarity and he squirmed as well as he could, which wasn’t very well at all. It was like he was watching it all from a field (backyard), from far away, playing right in front of him, _take your brother outside as fast as you-_

And then it was changed. He saw a man pushing off a bed, taller than the perspective of the viewer, chestnut locks just like his own sweat slicked back against his head and _You’re the one, Sam_ , _you’re my vessel,_ and he recognized the voice and his eyes would have flickered in its owner’s general direction if they could have.

Like a slideshow, thirty seconds before it switched, switched, switched, on and on and it would take a fucking eternity and Sam didn’t know it but he had all the time in the world.

He screamed along with the man on the screen sometimes. When he was getting his eyes plucked out or his bones drilled into or he was tied down to a table, squirming as bits were sliced off and laid in a pan to sizzle, as he was told time and time again, _human, useless, do it better, lost a point, come the fuck on, Sammy._

His screams echoed in his mind. Twins. Sounded just like the Sam on the screen and in his eyes, around life five hundred and seventy six, there was a dull flicker of recognition. He was the Sam on the screen.

And every second was Hell. He was in Hell. That was- why was he in Hell? Why-

_Actions have consequences, Sam. You chose this. You jumped._

_No, no, Lucifer, please!_

_Don’t. Freeze._

_Where- where, Lucifer- where are my?_

_Already have your everything._

Whimpered, screamed, howled, Sam was screaming too, Sam was howling too in his chair and his jacket and his now piss soaked pants, Sam was learning, Sam knew ‘no, please, stop’ and he was using them liberally, _good boy_ , caught on the edge of the mud before the free fall into knowing.

Years. It took years. To see just a glimmer of every life he’d lived. He was shaking, convulsing, _no more no more please_ when it was

_“You’re going to fucking drive me insane, Lucifer, I am insane, it’s too much, I can’t- too much, I can’t take it all, just let me fucking rest, just let me forget a little, make me forget, I don’t want this anymore, why are you doing this?”_

_And, “Mm. Is that right, buddy?” And the hand on screen, from Lucifer’s eyes, raised to snap its fingers and there was_ here, _there was the hospital and the jacket and Charlie and his room and nothing, head empty, meds sex ECT clean sleep meds sex-_

The screen was white again. Sam was shaking with loud, breathless, heartbroken sobs. 

And then, a moment, where everything stilled. The hospital’s waiting room gone, the jacket gone, the immobility gone. Nothing but Sam and his chair and his screen and his memories. And Lucifer. 

“What’s my name?”

Sam wanted to fall back into the mud, he wanted to swim in it, choke on it, he wanted a few words and no pressure at all to say any of them. “L-Lucifer.”

Lucifer sighed heavily, moving to straddle Sam on the chair, expression still twisted, like a wounded lover. He pressed the tips of his fingers into Sam’s chest, right above his thudding heart. And then his fist sank in.

“You owe me an apology.”

Sam started wailing before it even started to hurt, eyes wide and wild with the same old ancient gaze of the eternally damned, “Ssssorry- Sorry, sorry, sorry, am sorry, am so fffucking _sorry_ , L-Lucifer.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Sincerest apologies to Sam Winchester. You deserve better, sonny-boy.


End file.
